A Letter to A Mentor

Hi Rich,

I know it’s been awhile since we last talked. You retired early after a full career which included serving in the U.S. Army with the illustrious Rangers and your many years at the Department of Natural Resources working as a Public Information Officer. That’s how we first met, you know. I know you’re from Pennsylvania, but honestly your accent was barely noticeable. It’s probably all the years you spent in Minnesota.

In fact, I’ve been trying to remember when we first met, but I know it had something to do with writing and photography. You see, our whole mentor/mentee friendship revolved around the Civil Air Patrol (CAP), the auxiliary of the United States Air Force (USAF). I think it had something to do with all the writing I found myself doing for Viking Squadron as Cadet and somehow you probably reached out to me and took me under your wing, so to speak. It’s said that CAP was a best-kept-secret, but I had done so much writing in the local papers that I think it was becoming less well-kept. CAP is centered around three areas: Cadet Programs, Aerospace Education, and Emergency Services. At least when I joined it was. It’s changed a lot as cyber technology has become more advanced and things like drones have become really popular. Did I ever tell you I worked an Air Force base that housed civilian drones? I think you would have gotten a kick out of that. You were always interested in seeing what your Cadets were up to. You were always checking on Cadets you mentored. You remembered their names, you asked them what they were interested in, and where they saw themselves going. Anyways, I digress.

Rich doing what he did best: telling a story.

I think you’d contacted me because you saw all the writing I’d been doing and you were doing a lot of it for the state, so you needed someone to help you. Of course it was more than that; you wanted someone to eventually take your place at state-wide events. Somehow you roped me in and before I knew it, you had me doing the work of a Senior Member (or an adult) while I was a Cadet (kid). You embodied one of the CAP core values every single day: Respect. The others being Integrity, Volunteerism, and Excellence. However, I always remember your strong sense of respect for others – even if you didn’t agree with someone. Anyway, the fact you treated me as someone on the same level of experience as you even though I was a teenager was a big deal for me.

You’d often taught at the Minnesota Leadership Academy and I remember your classes at the Basic Cadet Officers’ Course. I don’t have my notes, but I know that you regaled us with your tales as an officer in the U.S. Army Rangers. You always looked out for your soldiers and hammered home the importance of a Cadet Officer doing the same. I took at lot of it to heart, especially when I became a Cadet Commander at Viking Squadron. It was daunting task, but I had some good advice from you.

We had a lot of fun together, mostly because you know how state events meant many long weekends or even up to 10 days in a row gone from home. We’d work 15-hour days during Encampment which was the biggest event of the year for Cadets. We’d be up at the crack of dawn with the Cadets at Physical Training to make sure friends and family had pictures and a newsletter by the end of the day. I knew you were as exhausted as I was, but you showed up every single day. It was hard to slack off when your boss is at least twice your age and is out doing push-ups with 15-year-old kids. You never complained and you always expected me to give 100%. It’s probably why I worked so hard when I worked for you – I knew that you valued hard work and I valued your experience and advice. So, I worked hard at being a good writer.

I’m nearly at 700 words and you’re probably wondering when I’ll get to the point. The truth is, it’s hard to write a letter to you in memory of what you were like while you were alive. I remember you were kind, caring, compassionate and smart. You had a strong faith background and you knew mine was important to me. I think you convinced me to play piano for the church services at one state event. I remember you gave me a cross on a dog-tag chain that I could wear with my uniform because you knew that my faith was important to me. I know you wore a similar one. I think anyone who wasn’t a Chaplain in CAP didn’t talk about their faith and you didn’t shy away from difficult topics like faith or politics.

One of the most important things I’ll take away from my friendship with you is how words can be used and how words should be used. They can be used to convey a message, tell a story, encourage someone, or as a way to pave the road to other opportunities. You see, Rich, because you were my mentor, I wrote my way through college. It wasn’t just assignments and projects, or presentations, it was the countless essays that I wrote to pay for tuition, room and board, books, and supplies. It was the blog I wrote that paid for school expenses for a whole academic year. It was the confidence to just write. Now it gives me the courage to publish this letter. A letter to my mentor who recently passed away.

I’m nearly at 1,000 words which I’m pretty sure you taught me a piece shouldn’t exceed. Thanks for all of the writing and photography advice – I promise it’s not being wasted.

Enjoy heaven – I’ll miss you.

Lydia