After the interminable summer of 2017—a summer oppressively sad following a major loss—I ended up taking a position: I would be tutoring youth at a nearby private school. Since it was 10 minutes from my house in Brunswick, the location seemed right. It was at night, so I had my days to be down and depressed (or in theory, be able to write).

I told the academic dean who hired me “the story.” I let him know that I couldn’t commit to anything long-term. Amazingly, he was okay with that. That was the extent of what I could handle at that moment in my life.

On my third night, I ended up paired with a young man who needed help with statistics. I hadn’t done statistics since I’d been taking night school classes during my CMP days in the mid-1990s. Somehow, I remembered enough to provide some help to my protégé.

He was back the following night. The two of us became a team, an academic Odd Couple of sorts. Over the remainder of the 2017-18 school term, we worked on English, History, and fortunately for me—he dropped statistics. The person supervising the night Guided Study program asked me if I’d want to work with Billy as a one-on-one assignment. Since I had nothing better to do with my evenings, I agreed.

An interesting thing happened for me, and I’m guessing for Billy, too. We found a place of commonality. He was a football player and later, during the winter, I learned he was an amazing wrestler. As a former coach, I guess I provided some mentoring structure in addition to the tutoring support I offered.

Billy learned differently. I picked up on cues by paying attention. I re-ordered some of my own ideas about pedagogy.

We read an amazing novel together, The Book Thief. It was the assigned selection in his English class. I’d learn later that Billy was dyslexic. Somehow, I figured out that reading aloud, taking turns, worked for him.

He loved offering his opinions on politics. He wasn’t scared away when I suggested that you could take a more leftward tack than he was used to. I assumed his father was conservative, politically, from what Billy told me and in the way he parsed his thoughts on government.

Weeks turned into months. Billy was in a post-grad year at the school and would be graduating in May. The final two weeks prior to graduation, he had to prepare to deliver a 90-second speech. Every senior receiving their diploma had to give one. Now a minute-and-a-half isn’t long, but I contend that the nature of the short address is misleading and often more difficult than a longer presentation. We developed a strategy and a contingency plan, too.

When he gave it, I knew he’d flubbed one line. I’d prepared him for this and my advice was to keep going. He did. I’d told him that the only two people who knew he’d made a mistake would be him and me. I was right. His family members were amazed. They didn’t think Billy would ever be giving a speech at graduation, especially one with a family joke, and an easy delivery.

So many things about this random pairing are now obvious and there seemed to be a certain serendipity in how I managed to get matched-up with Billy. I contend to this day that I got more from our time together than he did. His parents probably disagree. They would tell me at graduation that I had as much to do with his graduating as anyone at this school that has attracted many high-profile students, including the children of Hollywood celebrities and musical heavy-hitters to the 19^th century mansion and walled grounds sitting just off High Street in Bath.

Billy just completed his first year at a technical college in Boston. His mother reports that overall, it’s been a positive stretch. She texted me that she wished I lived closer so that I could tutor him a few days a week.

This year my role was remarkably different. I was put me in charge of the night-time academic study period for students who often didn’t want to study. Some of the 25 or so youth I was responsible for matching with other tutors didn’t want to be there. At times, I wasn’t sure I wanted to finish out the year. It’s hard to “fight” with students night after nigh and always be the “bad cop.” I didn’t get to tutor as much as last year, but I still managed to work with a few students. One of them got expelled. I hope what I told him his final night stays with him.

This evening will be our final night together. On Monday evening, I presented a book on leadership to a student who had been the source of aggravation. Jason and I butted heads numerous times. I’d also managed to garner some modicum of reluctant respect from a tough student who is graduating on Saturday.

He was touched that I’d given him a book. I told him I expected him to take a few things from the book over the summer and apply them to his life. He thanked me.

A few of the tutors have been with me since September of 2018. I don’t know if I’ll see them again after tonight. One of them gave me good advice this fall before he returned to France. He told me to “be gentle,” and not get too stressed. It was good advice. I tried to remember it during the time he was gone, when each night felt like triage because we were woefully short on tutors.

Some of last year’s tutors didn’t come back this fall. One of them died over the summer. He was about Mark’s age. Our two Bowdoin students who were amazing graduated last weekend. I’m sure they’ll go on to do big things. They’ll never know the impact they had on the students. They also reminded me of my son more often than not.

I don’t know what I’ll be doing next to supplement my writing, but I am grateful that I fell into tutoring. The gig reminded me that I’ve picked up a few things along my journey through life. Some of my advice even borders on wisdom these days. Amazingly, there’s even value in it for the youth of today.