A letter to my seniors...

Hello all. It's been quite some time since I last wrote, not for a lack of topics to write about or even a desire to get it done. But mostly, I've been making sure the team is well situated for the end of the year, making sure kids are going to camp, as well as making sure all the things I need to do to make sure my job is being done most effectively. In the mad rush of stuff I've been trying to get done, I've had a lot of time to reflect and to think nostalgically about a variety of things, and somewhere in all of this, the idea of writing a parting letter to my seniors, to give me an avenue to voice my feelings, as well as some sort of public recognition for some kids that have literally changed the person I am. Well, here we go...

Dear Seniors,

When I was hired, I had no intention of being around long enough to even consider writing a parting shots letter. I assumed I would hold the job for a year, maybe two, before I decided on how much money i was willing to go in debt to get to law school which would inevitably guide my decision. I had the opportunity to be teach at the school the first year, and decided it was a better idea to live off my poker earnings, because I had no desire to lock in to a high school program. I had been coaching high school, but still had the itch to leave and do something, as my mother would say, "more academic." Wasn't really sure what it was, but I was pretty sure my BS degree would not be my last. In fact, I had not even intended on taking this job. I had another job offer from another school in the district, and only agreed to interview for the job as a favor to a friend. But sometime during my initial interview with Mr. Raines, I decided to not just summarily dismiss this chance without being open to the idea of what this program was capable of being. I opened up my mind, my heart and spoke abstractly with a few friends about the possibility of me working at a Catholic high school (ironically, one of my confidantes is now my co-worker, as the school just hired him). And when I took the job, the job was all about potential, as opposed to achievement. In a word, our program was lackluster at best, and not mentionable among even the top teams in our immediate area...

...and now, four years later, our program has flourished, has grown exponentially, and has become a place where a student, any student, can come and find a place where they can feel comfortable, and a place where anyone that wants to can carve out a niche, a place that, as a unit, tries very hard to operate like a family. That's a statement I always considered to be the core component in most of the successful programs in other formats of competition, but I had never really been part of a program that operated with family at the core of its operational successes and/or failures. People that knew me five years ago, and who see me now, must see a very different person. I call him un-fun Doug. every once in awhile, fun Doug will show up, just to make fun of the person un-fun Doug has become. Whereas fun Doug says things like "Let's go up to the bay and chill with your peeps!", un-fun Doug talks about gas prices, mileage, wear-and-tear on the vehicle, and the amount of time for the drive (which never seems to stop fun-Doug from kidnapping un-fun Doug for a couple of days a year, on long ass road trips across the desert to the promised land (or is it the Land of (unfulfilled) Promises)

...When I got hired, debate (and that's what it was to me for the first year definitely) was still fun and exciting, and that was the driving force behind why I was still involved. I felt my job was to make you all as good at debate as possible, and the rest of the other stuff would be dealt with by someone else. I felt my job was to cut a ton of evidence, come up with tight strategies, and be the driving force to our winning debates. I was pretty good at that. But if that was all I was willing/able to do, I definitely wouldn't still be here, possibly by my own choice, but more likely because the school would have felt under-served by my time-effort-pay ratio. Somewhere, in the middle of all the madness, it dawned on me that my job was much more extensive than I signed on for, but also that I was more than capable of doing these things. I speak to debate coaches all over the country that know more about their kids than I generally know about you all, but that's a lot by choice. I try my hardest to not let what happens to you all when you're not with Speech and Debate change my opinions of you, positively or negatively, and to only be influenced by my direct interactions with you all, and my indirect interactions with the team...

...but even as I attempt these things, it occurs to me that, in order to do my due diligence, I need to give you all more of myself, a part of myself most people don't see. And somewhere along the line, i decided to be more open, to give you all more of myself, but to, above all, make sure that this program is here, and in better shape, for other kids that may need the benefit of a place to go and be accepted, regardless of, well, anything, and to find their space. I hash on this stuff a lot, because, when it's all said and done, it's not something that is inherent in the way I operate, but something I learned from you all. I learned not how to be responsible from you all, but I learned why I needed to be responsible. You all made me want to be responsible for you...

...which i guess gets me around to my point. Thank you. Thank you for giving as much to the Speech and Debate program than anyone should ever have asked of you. Thank you for being patient with me, as I grew into the position of leadership I took on before I knew if I was ready. Thank you for being the backbone, the soul and the heart of the family our program has become. Thank you for being exceptional competitors, but better people. Thank you for giving me the passion and drive to serve you all in a way you deserve. Thank you for growing with me, because of me as much as in spite of me. Thank you for giving Speech and Debate a chance to change your lives. Thank you for dealing with my quirks and idiosyncratic demeanor, my short fuse and general impatience, and my gruff demeanor. Thank you for realizing that my goal is your success and for you to have no regrets at the end of your time in the activity.

Farewell, class of 2010. You will be missed, but your legacy will long outlive your time on the team. When I got here, we had some members on Speech and Debate, but not a lot of interaction. We had no family. We had no Culture of Success. We had no expectations. This class changed all of that, and for that, I will be forever in your debt. I am honored to know you all, and would be happy to call you my friends.

You stay strong, I'll stay black,

Mr. D