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As was custom, students sought out their friends as they entered the room. Danny and Elissa, students who had taken courses from me, sat in the seats to my left. I appreciated that, as I felt a little out of place in the classroom and wasn’t sure how the students would feel about being joined by an older guy.

About ten minutes before one, John entered the room, wearing slacks, dress shoes, and a Saint John’s University shirt. This ensemble was more or less his uniform, with the only day-to-day variation being which color and style of shirt he would choose. This day it was white and long-sleeved, and the Saint John’s emblem was red.

For a few minutes, John sat on the wooden table at the front of the room, a table that had been handcrafted by one of the campus’s many monks. John smiled at the youthful energy that sat in front of him. He kicked his legs back and forth, about as quickly as I had ever seen them move.

At five minutes before one, with the room now full, John stood and simply lifted his hands into the air. He was used to relying on hand motions to get the attention of boisterous eighteen- to twenty-two-year-olds, as his voice was soft and he hadn’t used a whistle on the football field in several decades.

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