Hi, everyone. Welcome to Thanks for being here, a short weekly pod to remind us of the many

essential and beautiful ways we affect one another. Every Sunday, I'll read a submission from a listener

of Kelly Corrigan Wonders. Could be wedding vows or a bat mitzvah toast, a eulogy, or retirement speech.

We believe this is probably the loveliest way to tap into our better selves and remember

our highest values.

We encourage you to share this podcast each week with one person you love.

Maybe someone you miss and need to bring closer, someone you want to feel your appreciation

or admiration or both.

This is thanks for being here.

This week's thanks for being here comes from a listener named Christina Banvois.

She says, Dear Kelly, I'm a longtime listener. Love your books and was inspired to write a submission for thanks for being here when you asked for letters about teachers who made an impact. I've been getting that a lot of thought and writing the piece in my head, and now I'm trying to put my thoughts on paper to convey my gratitude for Mr. John C. O'Brien, Latin teacher, tennis and basketball coach, athletic

director, and all-around legend at Bishop Stang High School. I'd be honored if you would read it.

I recently retired from over 30 years teaching and had the privilege of being taught by

and working with many outstanding teachers. Mr. O'Brien was my favorite. He taught me to think.

To love Latin, which is so useful in all my other subjects, gave me confidence and made me

and all his students feel important. I'm sure there are many Mr. O'Brien stories out there.

Here's mine. Here's Christina's letter to Mr. O'Brien.

I was a lowly freshman in 1979, 14 years old, new to the school, and my beloved father had

just passed away from cancer. I was heartbroken, utterly bereft, and lost. Mr. O'Brien was my Latin teacher and had a reputation

for being a bit gruff. Truth be told, he could be a little grumpy and sometimes a yeller,

but always with a twinkle in his eye like he was trying to hide a smile. I used to tell him his

barks were fake. He'd smile and say, don't tell anyone. When you didn't know

...