Last month, the world lost Ray Convery. Some losses we can’t live long enough to fully grieve. I don’t know exactly what to say, and I’ll cry as I type, but grief is love. And I sure did love Coach Convery. So, I’ll try.

The outpouring from people lucky enough to call this man their teacher and/or coach has been truly remarkable. Coach Convery was one of the most influential educators in my life. When I spoke at his retirement party, I couldn’t get through my speech because even the thought of the world without him as a coach seemed like such loss.

I mean, every kid should have a Ray Convery in their corner. Every single kid. That I got to play for him on the Winthrop High School varsity basketball team is a gift I will be grateful for as long as I live. Part of who I am as a teacher began in Winthrop, with a man whose gym was small but his influence immense.

Coach Convery did not only teach and coach. He changed lives. When a person believes in you, pushes you, holds you to high standards and insists that you be the best version of yourself, it shapes who you are, how you behave and what you believe about yourself. That person becomes part of you. There are so many people walking around with Ray Convery in their heart, myself included.

Ray cared about his players as people. He cared about our grades, our homes, who we called friends, who we dated and if we wore a hat and jacket out into the cold after practice. He made us laugh and played his share of jokes on us. He loved to tease us about our teased ’80s bangs, keeping track of whose were the highest and “how many channels we could pick up” on those things.

We could go to his office and talk about anything we needed, any time. We liked him, we loved him, but most of all, our respect for him was huge. He didn’t have to ask for it. He earned it. His basketball knowledge and ability to teach the game was impressive.

His expectations and standards on and off the court were high. So high. When he spoke, we listened. We knew when it was time to put the jokes aside and get to work. And work we did. Every day. Coach gave his players the utmost respect and 100% effort at every game and practice. And we returned it. It was not fear we felt. It was reverence.

Ray was a class act. He insisted that we win with dignity and lose with pride. He was fiercely competitive and hated to lose, but he was a gentleman above all. The only thing that rivaled Ray’s large collection of conference, regional and state title trophies was his collection of sportsmanship banners. He expected us to be excellent athletes, but demanded that we be even better people.

When we knocked someone down, we were benched if we didn’t pull them up. When we had competitions in practice and the losing team had to run, he explained to us that we should all be on the line to run because being part of a team means that no one runs alone.

Referees were practice for life. Someday, he explained, many of us would have a boss who would make bad calls or calls we disagreed with, but we would not be able to question these calls without being fired. “Start practicing for a bad boss now. Keep your opinions about calls to yourself or you’ll find yourself on the bench, out of a job.”

People like Ray are never truly gone. They live on through all the lives they touched and the ripple effect. I am a better person and teacher because I knew him. My students, who have never met him, have also felt his influence. That kind of light will still be shining someday when we are all someone’s ancestors.

You left an incredible legacy, Coach.