12 Reasons Why: Reason 1

I worked with this teacher who was liked. He was popular. People wanted to talk to him. His positivity was contagious and some joked toxic.

He won the school's unofficial teacher of the year award two years in a row voted on by the staff. You can't play a faculty of teachers.

The grace, poise, and warmth with which he treated people wasn't an act. It just was.

He could explain school politics and the parts that frustrated me the most without looking down on me or mansplaining. And he liked me. I really liked him, but I often felt unworthy.

We geeked about pro wrestling, movies based on comics, movies about a crazy underworld of hitmen and magic currencies, shows about police officers and drug dealers and city hall and a Hamster in a Dam.

It was full on geek culture. One time he texted me an image from a wrestling show that was in town.

I begged to team with him to anyone who would listen. After a few years, they did. Working with him was one of the most rewarding times of my career, and I'm so appreciative that the machine gave me that.

Even though they took it away the next year, I was given a year to grow.

I would gently argue with the way we graded, what did or didn't focus on. He would gently push back that while many of my ideas were valid, it's the pedagogy of boomers. We were working in a post-Boomer world, so their roles were gone. We were the gatekeepers now, but we gave the students the keys to unlock it. But not any old keys: we teach the combination, and then they unlock it for themselves.

He also had real world literacy that I was envious of. I once told him. He took a gentle tone, smiled, and he looked me in the eyes and asked if I knew what he did before he taught.

I said college.

No, he worked at a large credit union learning the banking system, and many loaded financial terms were a part of his everyday life. He asked if I ever worked for that credit union. I said no. He then took a step closer and said then I shouldn't know all of these words, but when it's time, I'll know.

What if I don't know when it's time? Call him, and he'll tell me if it is.

I cried when my wife told me I would be a good father because I believed her. I told him this.

I saw a tumbleweed blow by the classroom as my own judgment began to overtake me.

He said your daughter will be like a football: carry that football everywhere you go, don't let the defense cause a fumble, but don't hold too tight so you can't get her to the end zone either.

My voice cracked that finding balance is not my best skill. He looked at me, not with pity, but with compassion. He already knew that.

He asked where my next vacation destination was. He referred to me as the CIA teacher because my trips were off the radar.

I started a 529 the week my daughter was born. I monitor the portfolios of those who have succeeded beyond belief in the market because they're public documents. I know how to leverage government tax credits and rebates and to find when the nation's creepy uncle who wants you can help with purchases I have to make anyway.

I learned this without a phone call, but I know I could have called. But he gave me the confidence and belief in myself that I wish I had 30 middle years earlier.

He was just a year older than I was.

I also work with my students to learn how to crack the locked gates with barbed wire on the top. I don't worry about getting a bell curve or having the perfect intervention triangle data. I trust myself to feel it.

So, to this friend, welcome to your chapter expressing my sincerest of thanks. You knew I could be a good father, but you taught me I could be a wise dad and protector. You taught me to approach the job a little differently, and in doing so, you took something I could carry but knew I didn’t need to…

Leaving our school was hardest because I knew I wouldn't see you anymore. The tears that came as I wrote this chapter are a different kind of tear, and they don't make my body shake uncontrollably.