R.I.P. Mike Twist

A window into my thoughts:

We live off of Orsinger Road. A narrow road with woods and apartment buildings and a couple of neighborhoods. A narrow road with railroad tracks and cars that drive way too fast. And no shoulder. If you walk past the forest area where deer frolic and people come to dump their trash, you will see a white cross placed against a tree. You will see candles with the names of saints and the words R.I.P. Mike Twist. You will see velvet roses and a small poem taped to the tree.

He died in June. A month before we even came to San Antonio. He was seventeen. He had just graduated from a Catholic high school (not mine). His teachers and classmates called him funny, a great soccer player, a good guitar player, a faithful friend. He was driving an SUV...speeding down Orsinger Lane with three of his friends. He vaulted over the railroad tracks, lost control, and slammed into that fated tree.

And was pronounced dead at the scene. His friends all survived.

So why do I tell this story? Who is Mike Twist to me? Perhaps a shadow lurking in the woods, feeding the deer, and talking to God. Perhaps he reminds me of my own mortality and the fragility of life. He reminds me to bless the fourteen-year-olds, fifteen-year-olds, sixteen-year-olds, and seventeen-year-olds I teach. To make their life better. And learn from them.

Yes, Mike Twist, Rest in Peace.