By Ann Farabee

Yes, that is what we called him — Coach Watts. Most just called him Coach.

But never have I heard him referred to as Mr. Watts.

He was Coach.

My first interaction with him was in my freshman year of high school. I was slightly frightened. I had to take PE and Coach Watts was one of the PE teachers. I worked diligently to stay hidden during PE. It was a large group, so I tried to hide behind other people, and since I am short, it was not that hard to do. I considered trying to stay hidden a form of exercise. He must have, too, because I made an A.

I am sure Coach Watts was aware of what I was doing, especially since I was the shortest one in the class and I could not even see from the back of the gym. But he always responded with that slight grin. I knew that grin meant: “I know what you are doing and it is OK.”

Sometimes, he had all these great stations set up in the gym for students to go to, and many in the class ran to them excitedly. I found out that if I walked slowly toward the stations and kept sliding to the back of the line and letting others in front of me, I did not have to do anything. I perfected that strategy, along with a couple of my non-athletic friends. Once again, he would take a look in our direction and smile, letting us know he knew we were there and we wanted to be left alone.

Then, when it was time to take four laps around the gym, I melted into my group of peers, who stopped at three laps, which coincided with when the athletic kids were finishing four laps. He knew and gave us that smile, letting us know that it was OK. I am sure he did not want us to pass out from exhaustion.

But my best memory of Coach Watts was in the car with a driver’s education logo on top. It was his chore to teach me to drive. Someone had to do it, I guess.

Every day for two weeks, he had to drag three pillows out of the trunk of his car for me to sit on so I could reach the steering wheel and see out the car window. The other two students could see out the window without the aid of pillows. They had also previously sat behind the wheel before with the permission of their parents, which shocked me, because that was against the law. Not me, buddy.

Every day as Coach got out the pillows, stacked them up, and helped me climb up on them so I could reach the steering wheel, his grin got a little bigger. Perhaps that was because he was getting closer to being finished teaching me to drive.

I admit it. I was fearful of driving. I followed the driving rules to a tee. If the speed was 35, I made sure I went 30. If I knew a turn signal would be required soon, I turned it on two blocks ahead and began to slow down. If there had been a driving certificate for being cautious, I most certainly would have deserved it. Perhaps there was a reason Coach kept smiling and saying these words to me that I still remember today, “If you don’t speed up a little, someone is going to run over you.”

Funny how one comment will stick with you. I still think about that sometimes when I am driving and someone is about to run over me.

In a way, the comment also works in life. I definitely began to speed up a little as far as life is concerned.

Coach Watts, I enjoyed writing down these memories of you. I wish I knew how many people took driver’s ed with you. I am fairly certain you smiled as they learned to drive, too. You were the best.

By the way, I have had a perfect driving record for the last 50+ years.

And so far, no one has run over me.

I am thankful for the man you were, the life you led, and the legacy you left behind. I am sure our entire community is thankful.

You were one of a kind — thanks, Coach!