"Appreciate what you have, until it turns into something you had."
A piece of wisdom I was taught much earlier than it actually became applicable to my life.
I have had many mentors that have shaped me into the person I am today. From teachers, to coaches, to just some older friends, I have been fortunate enough to encounter so many wonderful people in my life.
You were much more than a mentor.
I remember the first day we met. I remember waiting for you in the parking lot of the Charles C. White Pool, and watch you walk into the office. You were nothing like the man I had pictured. I remember watching you open the door of that old black jeep Cherokee and thinking you were one of the construction workers who was there renovated the pool. Even in person you were, unkempt, to say the least. Your sneakers were ripped at the toes, and you could probably use a shave. Your voice was raspy. My mom always said you were the type of guy she could picture grabbing a beer with my dad. You and my dad were very similar, loud and intimidating to most. I wonder if that is still the case.
It wasn't long before you became my the best coach I had ever had. You always pushed me out of my comfort zone, telling me I was much more talented then I deemed myself to be. You taught me what it took to be fast. Really fast. You knew what it took to get me to reach my full potential as an athlete. It was hard work, but you made it fun. If not for you, swimming would of never became my passion, my drug. I lived to follow the black line at the bottom of the pool. I swam, not only for myself, but also to make you proud. That's all I ever wanted--to make you proud. I hope that I still make you beam with pride.
And just like that, you were taken from me.
You told me we couldn't stay in contact, but everything will be okay. You told me to treat the other coaches the same way I treated you. You told me that you were sorry, but that this was how it had to be. I told you to take care of yourself. I forgot to say thank you. I was still in denial, thinking it wasn't the last time I would hear your rough voice. It wasn't until I pulled out of the parking lot that the tears started running. Sometimes, the tears still run. I think of you often. I wonder if you still think of me.
It's not the coaching that I miss the most. Sure, I would do anything to swim your sets again, to hear you yelling at me to move faster, pacing the pool as I swim. Of course I miss the advice, whether you were coaching me on my technique or how to deal with personal situations. It's the little things. Seeing you in the same camouflage shorts and army green fleece pullover everyday, the same hairstyle: a backwards baseball hat with your curly hair slicked back and peeking out in the back. The loud whistle that rang throughout the arena, causing heads to turn and teams to gawk. Clearly, you never cared about what anyone else thought. I really looked up to you. I still do.
Most of all I missed your smile. I always could make you smile, no matter what mood you were in. And you could always make me smile too, no matter how bad a day I was having. I lived to see you smile. I wonder if you are happy, wherever you are in life.
I hope we meet sometimes in the distant future. Maybe, 20 years into the future, we will be in the grocery store, and you will be much older and I will be all grown up. My daughter will bump into you by accident trying to reach to the very highest shelf, and you will know right away that she is mine because you remembered my smile when I was her age. I hope we can grab lunch, talk for hours; I will laugh because even after all these years, you are still wearing those same dumb ripped sneakers, the same camouflage shorts, the same hat flipped backwards. And it will be as though no time has past, and you will once again be my coach.
Dedicated to my coach, a man I was so blessed to know. Thinking of you always :)
