Mr. Wood

On my way to Santa Monica this morning, I turned off the 405 and followed Manhattan Beach Boulevard almost all the way to the pier.  A few blocks from the ocean is a restaurant called The Kettle.  This is where I met my friend for breakfast.  As we do every month or two, Scott Wood and I met over coffee and omelets (I went for eggs Benedict this morning) and picked up the thread in our ongoing conversation about every topic we take as important.  We call this our symposium.  Scott and I have been at this for about twelve years, but our relationship extends back much further.  I first met Scott Wood forty years ago almost to the day.  He wasn't "Scott" back then, but rather "Mr. Wood."  You see, Scott was my freshman English teacher at SI—spelled out, it's Saint Ignatius College Preparatory, then an all-boys school in the Sunset District of San Francisco.  I tell Scott that he supported me during the two most difficult times of my life.  The first was in January of my freshman year when my father died unexpectedly.  Scott took me under his wing—to Warriors games, events at the Cow Palace, Berkeley football.  We enjoyed everyday things, too: shopping, eating, doing errands.  Several time a week he drove me from SI to my home to San Bruno, 15 miles away.  Scott was again by my side (as were many others I love) through the terrible events of 2003.  Scott's generosity is inexplicable; I honestly don't get it.  I can only be grateful for such an amazing presence in my life.  I am grateful for Scott Wood—my teacher, mentor, and friend.