Recently, my high school typing teacher passed away at the age of 93 in my hometown of Kalamazoo, Michigan.

I hadn’t thought about Mr. Frank Caro in a while until my dad, who still lives in my hometown, called me with the news on a Sunday, surely after reading the local Sunday paper. My dad called while I was in the car driving with my husband as we headed downstate to visit my youngest son at college. And I spent a few minutes explaining to Greg the phenomenon that was Mr. Caro.

I explained, probably with a smile on my face, that he was my typing teacher sophomore year of high school. I still remember him so vividly! He was, now that I can look at him with wisdom that comes from growing up and life experiences, brilliant. I learned about far more than typing from Mr. Frank Caro.

He seemed eccentric, quirky even. It was the 80s, but he wore clothes from the 70s and maybe even 60s. He provided one of those glimpses in life, when you see a teacher outside of school and realize that the quirkiness, dated dressing and slightly snarky persona was an act they put on as a teacher. And that the persona was not the same as, or not all there was to, the actual person, the normal looking family man, husband and father, in slacks and a sweater that you saw at Mass on the weekends. And you have to take a moment and broaden your perspective and understanding that teachers are people. Not just people or just teachers, but both.

And he taught this by example, as well. My siblings and I had a lovely back and forth about Mr. Caro, and it also turns out that he was definitely paying attention in class and out of class, as a couple of my comments and my brothers’ comments showed the awareness he had of them as people outside of the classroom, too. So, one lesson I learned from Mr. Caro is understanding all the facets of a person.

It may be difficult to imagine now, but in the 80s, every student was required to take typing at some point in their high school career, and yes, I am totally dating myself right now. But we were required to take typing, and since mine was not a big high school, we all had him as a teacher. And we all have our memories of him and mine are quite fond. I won’t say that at 15, I was a very good typist. He would walk among our desks and comment if we were looking at our fingers on the keyboard or checking our accuracy, and he commented often to me. But even though he was stern and kind of quirky, I don’t remember disliking or feeling frustrated or having a problem with his occasional nasally admonishments. (My brother said in the text thread, “The magic of Frank Caro was the delivery. How to convey that thin, obnoxious French waiter voice with perfect drops of sarcasm and superiority?”) That’s just what you signed up for, when you had Mr. Caro as a teacher.

As is often the case, my dad called me to tell me of Mr. Caro, and it was my job then to share this nugget of news with my siblings. My siblings, my brothers, were 2 and 4 years ahead of me at the same school and they also had Frank Caro for typing. When I finally remembered two days later to text my siblings early on a Tuesday, my oldest brother Sean commented immediately with “Breathe with continuity. Type with continuity. Live with continuity.”

Those were the words to live by that he remembered from the mid-80s and his experience with Frank Caro. Isn’t that funny? That this man obviously impacted all three of us, and others of course, at different times 30 some years ago, and the messages still remain.

“Type with continuity. Breathe with continuity. Live with continuity.”

My brother Patrick had kind words as well, remembering that he “shouldn’t have gotten along as well with Mr. Caro as he did”. But Mr. Caro, one on one, was also vastly different than Mr. Caro in the classroom, and it turns out my brother and his friend used to stop by Mr. Caro’s room daily to grab a piece of candy from the candy jar and visit.

Patrick’s Frank Caro quote was “Never Lose Track Of Your Home Row.”

How amazing.

Breathe with continuity. Type with continuity. Live with continuity.

And

Never Lose Track Of Your Home Row.

I guess there was a lot of truth or merit or value, or all of the above, to whatever mysticism our typing teacher was weaving and working in his classroom, for all three of us to have vastly different experiences in life, but we, to a person, also had fond and powerful memories of typing class. And it’s not that it was typing class, it’s that it was Mr. Caro. We know that now. Breathe with continuity. Type with continuity. Live with continuity. And, Never Lose Your Home Row.

A lesson I carry with me from Frank Caro is that “Faster Is Not Better”. Meaning, work on accuracy, and with practice, the speed will come. I am a musician. I was a musician then, a budding one, and still am today. And the lesson still holds true. Work on doing things right, and then practice A LOT, and the speed will come. In flute music, we don’t learn 1/16th note runs in music by playing them fast immediately. In typing class, it was more important that we be accurate first and then gain speed next. True then in typing, true now in life. Lessons to live by.

I didn’t know this would be an ode to my high school typing teacher, but as it turns out, it is. I was inspired to share the Life Lessons that I learned at the age of 15 and that have obviously stuck with me this long, and I’m grateful for the experiences and the knowledge gained, and the shared experience with my siblings. I love knowing they had similar clear and fond memories of this man that I did.

To review:

• We are all made up of many facets.
• “Breathe with continuity. Type with continuity. Live with continuity.”
• “Never Lose Your Home Row.” And
• “Faster Isn’t Better.”

In addition, I have a couple other challenges for you this week inspired by Frank Caro.

I’ve taken you all with me on a walk through time recently, with Psychology 101 from freshman year of at the University of Dayton, to Production and Operations Management from college junior year, and now a dip back to high school at Hackett Catholic Central, as I recall topics and teachers who have influenced my life. That’s big.

First challenge: What do you want people to remember about you in 40 years? What do you want to be remembered for? And when you can answer that question, make sure that is the life you are living now. We don’t understand the impact that we can have, but we can have an impact. So determine what that impact is, that you want to have.

And, second challenge: Who was that teacher for you? If those special teachers or mentors are still around to be appreciated, appreciate them. Reach out to an impactful teacher or mentor that you’ve had in your life and say thank you. They would love to hear from you and to know how they touched your life, and you will be a better person for being able to say thank you and being grateful for them.

For example, a few years ago, I reached out in a letter to my best boss ever (and I am self employed!), Helen, to thank her for her support during my time at the University of Illinois, and for being generally gracious and amazing and someone I should aspire to be like. Humbly, of course, she said she didn’t see that, but that a co-worker of mine from the same time had said the same thing. I am better for having known her, and she needed to know that.

I didn’t have a chance to say thank you to Mr. Caro. However, since Mr. Caro was a faithful Catholic like me, I have faith he is able to hear my gratitude in heaven.

May we keep remembering that:

We are all made up of many facets.

To “Breathe with continuity. Type with continuity. Live with continuity.”

To “Never Lose Your Home Row.” And

That “Faster Isn’t Better.”

Thanks, Mr. Caro.