15 Years Later

It’s the Wednesday of Spring Break.  I’ve parked, locked my car and I’m walking into Buffalo Wild Wings.  It’s a familiar feel as the brightness of the afternoon gets left behind when I walk into the tinted-window darkness of the entrance. 

I’ve been here before.  On quite a few occasions, actually.  When I was coaching tennis and we had to make cuts, my assistant and I would order a beer or two, get some lunch and talk it over for a couple of hours.  It’s my go-to meeting place. 

I turn the corner where the hostess waits to seat you and say, “I’ll just be sitting at the bar.”  She nods and looks back at her phone, clearly disinterested.  I pass the dining room section and enter the bar area.  I pick a tall table and settle in. 

Jake is working the bar once again this afternoon.  Bald-headed, big smiling, guy-of-the-people Jake.  He’s presided over most of my meetings and never fails to say, “Hey Tim!  Good to see you!”  He walks over to the table and asks what I’m drinking, so I oblige with an order.  In a short moment, the tall hazy IPA shows up.  Now I wait.

This isn’t a meeting with assistant coaches or fellow math teachers and it isn’t a meet-up with friends.  I’m about to have a lunch with a former student and I have no idea how it’s going to play out.  This isn’t something I normally do.  There’s no reason to be nervous, this is going to be a fun reunion.  I got along really well with this kid.  But it’s a new experience.  It could be a weird experience.  So until you know how it goes, it comes with an awkward feeling.  A hidden pressure to have it be a worthwhile engagement. 

I’m also carrying the secret that later in the week I intend to look for another job because maybe I don’t want to teach at my high school anymore.  So there’s that.  The juxtaposition of that negative vibe of thinking about quitting and the positive vibe of catching up with a former student is not lost on me as I pick up the tall glass and take my first drink.  It’s cold, smooth and refreshing.  Thanks Jake.  Let the meeting begin. 

My name is Tim Larsen.  I’m a storyteller.  Here’s how we got here.

For 23 years, I’ve taught high school math classes and since I’m here to discuss some of it, it’s a good time to reflect for a moment on that 23-year career.  There are always days when the kids push you to the point where, in the darker corners of your mind, you just want to burn the whole thing down.  The conflict in my head about staying with the job doesn’t have anything to do with the kids, though.  It’s more about the direction that the people who run the school are heading. 

But having said all of that, it really has been an amazing job.  I’ve met and worked with so many great people that I can’t help but feel fortunate that I’ve been able to do what I do for a living.  

I’m known in the classroom for telling stories.  I actually have a list of them called “The Larsen Stories,” a series of incidents about me and my family members when I was young.  My take on life in the Detroit area in the 1970s.  The kids always enjoy them.  They serve as a great distraction from what we’re in the middle of doing.  I mean, who doesn’t need a break every now and then from factoring a polynomial, you know what I mean? 

I also enjoy roasting the kids for saying or doing stupid things.  And as they are high school students, material is in endless supply.  If what they say is off-the-mark enough, I even write the quote on a white board on the side of the classroom.  The quotes build throughout the school year.  Over the years, it has been lovingly referred to as, “The Stupid Board.”

It’s a risky game that I play in the classroom.  I’m not there to offend or upset people, I’m there to create relationships with them and help them learn.  I just choose to do so in a way where we can laugh together as often as possible.  To survive this approach, it has to be a two-way street.  I’m just as fair game as anyone in the room.  It’s a whole, Good-for-the-Gander situation.  And I try to make sure that when I’m not making fun of them, I also let them know that I really do like them and enjoy being around them.  I hope that every one of them knows that the latter part is definitely true.

So as far as students are concerned, I’ve been lucky in my professional life.  I’ve thoroughly enjoyed that part of my career and I actually stay in touch through social media with hundreds of these kids after they graduate.  I’ve been to weddings, seen them get jobs and have kids.  And I always try to reach out when it seems like they’ve had better days. 

That last part is what brings me to you today.  One of those former students posted something not too long ago about being at a lower point in life.  The kind of day where life is a struggle.  I hardly ever comment on posts, I usually just send direct messages.  Don’t know why, it’s just what I do. 

This former standout student named Mike Whildin had posted about a lower moment in life, so I sent a message, hoping it would be a good distraction.  It was.  He sent a kind thank you and suggested we should have a lunch one day to catch up.  We didn’t.

Months later he shared a meme that went something like this: “Something you should know about me.  While talking to me, I may add my own similar story to what you’re describing.  It’s not that I’m trying to one-up you, it’s me trying to relate to you.”  I read it and thought, “I do the exact same thing.”  So I sent another message saying as much and, as if he had never said this before, he said “We should get lunch some time.” 

I’d always agreed to this proposal, we just never followed through.  But this time, as I scrolled through our Facebook Messenger history of suggested and agreed-upon lunches that never happened, I realized that this was something we should finally do. 

So we picked a time and place.  Wings and beer with a former student.  One of my favorites.  A jackass named Mike Whildin.  And I looked forward to it. 

This lunch proved to be a professional life-affirming joy.  Not only did we revel in catching up on the way our personalities made for a fun experience when he was a student in my classroom.  We enjoyed bullshitting as adults.  And the bullshitting made it easier to order another beer.  Even a third.  Just as his shared meme had predicted, two storytellers bounced life experiences back and forth like a tennis match. 

Stories of being a teacher or student.  Stories of career choices.  Stories of creating and performing our own kinds of artistry.  Family, love interests, dumb-assery, and a seemingly endless string of comically unfortunate incidents.

And as we talked, laughed, and entertained each other with stories about our own stupidity, we stumbled on yet another parallel in our lives.  A really important one to the theme of this story. 

It seems this young man has recently embarked on a promise to himself to see a baseball game in every ballpark in the Major Leagues. 

He had no idea that I’ve been working at this exact same goal for 25 years.  I actually only have a few stadiums left while Mike Whildin is just starting out.  He even told a story about how he turned one particular game from this goal into a write-up for a blog. 

Weird.

And so it was immediately decided that when I go to a game at the final stadium on my list, Mike Whildin will be there.   It’ll be a little awkward since the guys I go with have no idea who he is, but what the hell? 

And we decided to document these events as they unfold in this capacity.  We will cover some of the highlights of that initial conversation in the entries to come, give you some background along the way, and make sure to point out just what a couple of idiots you are reading about.  This is the story of Tim Larsen and Mike Whildin, a former teacher and a former student.  Two jackasses.  Two storytellers…15 years later.