I got a call the other night from someone I consider to be my best friend…Sparky Gehres. He is an art teacher at Livingston High School. I think people down there call him “Mark” Gehres, or Mr. Gehres, or Coach Gehres. I know him as Sparky. I never see him enough or talk to him enough…but he just intuitively knows when to call, and when to keep calling until I answer. He has always known when to…not so simply…show up…to call. When each of my parents died. Those first years of teaching, coaching. Trying to figure out his family and my family. Girlfriends. Playing football. College. Our kids. The current state of education.

That’s where I have been stuck. He called.

Since Sparky is a teacher, we always start by talking about how messed up the school system is…not the teacher part, not the kid part, not the sports part…the political part. The money part. The tidal wave of rules part. We both talk ourselves into a frenzy. It’s “counseling” at its best. We both talk at the same time, say the same things, have the same examples. We both agree, think that we are right, and ultimately come up with a solution…that will never be attempted other than in his classroom, and at my place. The machine gun conversation is usually followed by a silence.

Then we go backwards…to when we were kids. We have some history…too long to even begin to explain. His brother, Rob. The Biscayne. Merced Junior College. Football. Bands…We played football together, but we played in a band together. We have some history together. The American Legion Hall, Applegate Park, dusty nightclubs, hilarious musician friends…we both continued to play in bands for many years after those early kid days, different bands, different clubs…Sparky still plays. He is really good.

I don’t play anymore.

Somehow, though, Sparky convinced me to scatter some guitars around my house, so that when I get stuck…when I get frustrated…when I get sad…I can go backwards. I never play enough to get good again. My fingers don’t get callouses. They hurt just enough to help me remember what we did as kids…what our dreams were…who helped us…a gateway to the past, a bridge to the future. Going backwards to help go forwards. A bridge over the messy water that stops future dreams…that stops future goals…that simply stops future promises. Sparky always intuitively knows when I am stuck, and he has always known that my bridge has strings, frets, smoky smells, and those once-in-a-lifetime moments and memories that explain…no…define what life should be.

Sometimes going backwards helps you go forwards. I bet most people have that person, that reminder, that bridge…that helps each of us keep a dream alive.

I think I will take a break and pick up the Gibson. The blonde one.

Thanks, Sparky.

Mick Founts, Ed.D.

SJC Superintendent of Schools