Keep in touch. Stay in touch.
Two of the most overused, insincere phrases in the history of Hallmark-inspired yearbook musings.
High school is great. High school is fun. High school is important. Rah-rah-sis-boom-bah! Gooo Team!
As for the ramblings scattered from cover-to-cover, do we really mean it? Yes, it’s sweet and heartfelt-in-the-moment, BUT, really?
I guess. When you’re looking ahead to Class Day and Awards Day and graduation and beach trips and college… you mean it. With a little perspective, like 30 or 40 years perspective, we’re more likely to read the scribble-scrabble and wonder, “what was I thinking?”
So, when I received an end-of-the year note (we didn’t have yearbooks at the Career Center) from a graduating senior that read, “I will not forget you. Let’s stay in touch…” my heartstrings fluttered.
“That’s sweet. But, he doesn’t know what he doesn’t know. Bless his heart.”
He was, by any account, the chosen one. THE Chosen One.
All teachers have pets. Favorite students. Golden kids. The Chosen One. If they say they don’t, they’re not being truthful. It’s a relentless honesty, etched in stone for generations of educators, professors and teachers.
My mother was rather emphatic about the whole thing. “If you want to know who the favorites are, just ask.”
Chase walked into my room as a high school junior, understandably more interested in girls and football than anything I had to say.
He was cute as could be. Precious. A baby. Smart and eager and outspoken. That smile. Dark hair. I had Miles at home and Chase at school. We clicked. I liked him immediately.
Two years later, it was time for him to go. Leave. Get out. Spread your wings and fly, little bird, fly.
“Let’s stay in touch.”
Sure thing, kiddo. I’d like that. But, it’s not gonna happen. It’s not the way life works. You were here for a time and we might cross paths somewhere down the road. But… go with God and see you later.
Well. I was wrong. Chase left. He spread his wings. He flew. AND, he was in touch. Frequently. He called. He texted.
Conversations followed, far more often than I expected.
He came to our home. I recorded introductions for his brother’s concerts. His baby sister visited my classroom. I freakin’ LOVE his parents. His mama and my wife became friends. His dad brought me food during my overnight residency in the fireworks tent.
From early on, Sophia and Miles knew Chase was one of the very few people with whom Vikki and I would let them be. It was the ultimate badge of trust.
Chase grew up. (We’re all growing up. You know what I mean. Make it work.)
He graduated from Appalachian. He got a job. He bought a truck. He explored Europe. He met THE girl. (These are some of the highlights.)
We took his truck to the dump. He helped me “unstick” the barn door. He filled in at school when I was too sick to go. (These are not the highlights.)
I missed two Wake Forest football games in 22 seasons. My wedding and his wedding.
He’s no longer a boy. He’s a man. He gets to go and he gets to know, where and what others do not.
There is nothing in my life I would not share with Chase Vaden. He is a member of the Inner Circle. He has a permanent seat at our dinner table. Lifetime privileges.
When I hope for the future and I dream of what “can be,” I think of three people. Sophia. Miles. And, Chase.
I kept that end-of-the-year note. “Let’s stay in touch.” That was a good idea and I am ever grateful he did.
He is the exception. The Chosen One. I trust Chase in all things. Always.
Chase Vaden. He’s the one. In Chase I trust.
Jeffrey Griffin 