From Kristen

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So, one day he had me come to his class - was it last year, or the year before.  I think the year before.  He wanted me to talk to the kids about writing books.  As I was fairly sure I knew more about that than the kids did, I accepted the invitation.  And in doing that, got an insiders view of what went on in the classroom-crowned-with-a-propeller.

He handled the room the way a magician handles an audience—slight of hand, phrase—I know a pro when I see one. He treated his kids pretty much the way he treated us grownups, with that wry, limit-setting tongue of his—sometimes a little sharp, but only because he respects us enough to give us a straight-up answer.  I teased him about his hair.  I teased him about marriage.  He gave me back as good as I got.   Which is why we became friends.

But the thing that gave me the most insight into him was what I saw in the halls of that school as we came back in from recess. It was like the man was a magnet, walking through a hallway full of iron filings.  Kids would leap out of the student flow and attach themselves to him - throw their arms around him and bury their faces in his shirt. That, or throw words at him, like they had five seconds to get in a round of speed tennis.  And I knew him then - the favorite teacher.  The guy piloting the fifth grade class.  I almost remembered him, because my own fifth grade teacher had won my own love, back in the day.  But I never would have thrown my arms around him the way those kids were doing.

I don't know much more than that about Jason. Well, a few things—we did have a chance to talk a couple of times. Funny - the last time we got together, it was him giving me courage and hope, strength to go on. The irony stings.  All I know is, I hardly knew him, but he loomed large in my life nonetheless. And he will be missed.

~Kristen Randle