A Personal Post

I rarely take occasion to use this blog for anything personal, but every now and then, writing becomes a good mechanism/outlet for me to share my feelings. Call it therapeutic, call it self-indulgent, call it what you will.  The journalist in me resolves every now and then to scribe in the first person in the same voice as a one-time columnist, so I beg your forgiveness and indulgence for a few paragraphs.

There is a line in The Great Gatsby, one of my favorite texts to teach, that reads: "Let us learn to show our friendship for a man while he is still alive." It is for that reason that I often do not post things to social media after someone has passed away, why I don't go on paroxysms of emotion, why I tend to keep my thoughts to myself. Yet in the past week, I am breaking my rule, and sharing thoughts on someone who shaped and even defined my consciousness as a coach and leader.

I met Jerry Espinosa following a National Honor Society induction in 2003. I was a 25-year-old advisor who had just inducted his niece/adopted daughter, and he shared with me that he was impressed and inspired by my energy. Little did I know that this would be the start of a friendship and mentoring that would guide me through some incredibly successful experiences as a coach and formative years as a young(ish) school leader.

Jerry was a miracle man - he had survived a car-jacking, resolved his life to his Faith, and openly shared his Christianity with me in a positive, academic way. He believed in the inherent good in every student-athlete we coached. He volunteered thousands of hours to work with our programs at Dighton-Rehoboth: meets, coaches' meetings, practices, bus rides, weekdays, weeknights, weekends. He adopted me as another surrogate brother, and we spent hours on phone and at practice going back and forth about school, coaching, student-athletes, and practice schedules. I learned more about track and field from Jerry Espinosa than any other man on this planet - and it paled in comparison to what he taught me about living, about looking for the good, and about living in a godly way.  After a rough day as an assistant principal, when things seemed darker than dark, Coach Espo always made things better, because he knew what was good and right, and he could make me smile and turn a day around in the context of a simple long jump drill.

We were cut from different cloths in terms of our theology, but it didn't matter - we shared similar core values, and I loved our debates and conversations about Scripture. Simply put, he made me smarter, more learned, more empathetic, more cosmopolitan. One moment we could be talking about starting blocks and hurdling form, and the next about the Old Testament.

We wanted the best for our kids. We wanted them to earn the headlines that we had once enjoyed as student-athletes ourselves. We wanted to write a successful narrative. Each of those goals was met - a New England champion, at least 8 team league championships, a six-year stretch with more than 100 wins and less than 10 losses. More importantly, there were athlete goals met, lessons learned, and, above all else, a positive bend to every experience we had. His expertise and acumen in the sport were surpassed only by his humanity and altruism. I will never meet someone again who gave so much of himself to different groups of student-athletes, year in and year out.

When I got last week's phone call with the tragic news of Jerry's passing from Coach Moura, our fellow coach and my good friend who remains at Dighton-Rehoboth, we both vacillated from shock to sadness to guilt and back again. The portrait of fitness, the strongest "masters-level" competitor I ever met, one of the strongest men I ever had the privilege of knowing - taken all too soon, leaving behind a tremendous family whose void I cannot begin to process. Jerry and I had lost touch over the years, but never did I think I would not have one more opportunity to thank Jerry Espinosa for what he did for us, for our kids. For me.  Yes, it's a selfish response. Ironically, in the sadness for all of us who lost something with Jerry's passing was that I thought about how much he changed me for the better.

As a school principal, it can be challenging to see the good, to smile in the face of adversity, to persevere when there are difficult decisions to be made. But I think of what Jerry and I preached for all those years as partners on the track - that we don't get beat by things, that one more lap can make us stronger, and that everyone is capable of meeting lofty goals, so long as neither of us ever gives up.

I will miss my friend, even if it had been entirely too long since I reached out for one of his pep talks. I will forever be grateful for the fleeting time we spent together, for the sacrifices he made to make me better, knowing that there is a piece of his character in my administrative consciousness. When it seems like the odds are stacked, that the process is too much, that small victories and goals met are not enough, there will be Jerry's voice, powerful strides, and smile, clapping loudly and urging us toward one more finish line. For that, I'm grateful for his memory, even as I reconcile the joy and blessing of our friendship with the shock and anger over his premature departure from this earth.

For all the Falcons, Red Rocketeers, Sentinels, and countless others whose lives Jerry impacted- thank you is simply not enough. I only wish that we had all heeded the advice of Gatsby and shown that appreciation one more time. There is a quote from 1 Corinthians that I think is most fitting for my Biblical friend and colleague: "do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize. Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last, but we do it to get a crown that will last forever." I reconcile that with the words of the Hebrew, that yours will be an eternal memory that continues to grow.

My friend and mentor, hope I do that we honor your legacy with a crown that indeed will last forever, befitting your strict training. May I act with your same benevolence, compassion, and consideration. And may your memory be a blessing.  You will be and are already missed.