TLDR: The most beautiful thing I ever heard at a funeral came out of a 'childrens' book.

Not too long ago, one of my favorite teachers from high school passed away. It wasn't a huge surprise, given his age, but it was a major blow - he and I had always talked about getting together for a day outside of school, going for coffee, and just shooting the shit.

He was, if anything, unorthodox in his teaching methods: he was not afraid to get loud, to be ridiculous, to be stern, or to step in and defend. He was, as I'd heard more than one person say, 'an old-school motherfucker.' Above all else, at least when he was on the job, he was a teacher, in the most literal sense of the word.

On my first day of class with him (the last class of the day), sophomore year, he pulled me aside after the bell. "Your name is (last name)?" He asked, much more a statement, but still checking having seen it both on his list and on my emergency info card.

"Yes sir," I said, knowing what was coming.

"Your mom and dad are listed as (different last name)."

"My mother remarried," I replied.

"Is your father (dad's full name)?"

I confirmed that he was. It was the only reason I had known what to expect. I had heard countless stories (and have a few of my own, now) about this man growing up - a man who had graduated, got his teaching degree, traveled around to a few different notoriously 'troubled' schools before returning to his own high school and settling down - that it was something like meeting a grandfather I'd never seen. He had something of a reputation for singling out 'the diamond in the rough' for every class. In '79-'83, that was my dad: '04-'08, it was me.

He put a huge, gnarled, hand on my shoulder, and had to bend down to look me in the eye.

"I want you to know, no matter what happens at this school, if anyone ever messes with you, or you ever need help, you have an ally."

He was the first teacher to be so utterly frank with me about being a resource for help, and the first to tell me to my face that he could see through my shit - and he did. My emotional masks didn't work with him, and when I got into trouble - whether other teachers knew it or not - he was there to pull me aside and check in with me, or just make sure I was doing alright.

He always referred to me by last name, and made it clear to me that he would not accept anything less than his highest expectations of me. I became one of his easy favorites, always 2-3 weeks ahead on my assignments, always attentive, etc.

My father called me one day while I was out with friends to let me know. He'd heard through my teacher's son, on facebook of all places. The funeral was set for just a few days later. Cancer. He didn't tell anyone he was getting treatment, or that he even had it, until the very end.

I dressed how I thought he would have liked to have seen me dressed for the event, and accompanied my father. The funeral home was crowded with hundreds of people, and cars were lined up down the street for lack of parking. Many more sent their regards and well-wishes. This was a man who had, with a rough-edged approach and a gruffness that sometimes had people comparing him to a troll, influenced thousands of lives for the better.

The cancer had eaten him up: he looked strangely small in the coffin, and the mortician hadn't done the best job with the makeup, but there was no doubt who it was. Those scarred, blunt-tipped hands were the same. It was the second, maybe third, time I've ever seen my father cry.

I felt my eyes water many times as an endless stream of people came up to the front to speak and share memories - his family, people who had been on teams he'd coached, and many, many students. Every time I felt like I was about to cry, it was like I could feel him sitting nearby, up on a shop stool, arms crossed and laughing. "What's wrong, (last name)? Don't tell me you're gonna cry." I'd just smile instead, shaking my head.

I was doing alright until the last speaker came up, and finally, after all else, read his eulogy - the final part of which was the last few paragraphs of 'The Watership Down.'

I lost it - after hearing so many people speak, I couldn't help but feel it was the perfect analogy for the influence he'd had on so many. It has always been one of my favorite endings, both for its mythic feel, and the way it neatly wraps up everything heroic and wonderful about the protagonist into one, big, meaningful punch-in-the-heart. Even as the tears rolled down my face, swearing under my breath, I still felt like he was laughing - one last "gotcha!"

Maybe it's silly, I don't know - I'm crying as I type this, partially because how much that ending has always hit me, but a lot because I'm so glad I got to meet the man, be a student under him, and be a living testament for two generations of how much of a difference a good teacher can make in a kid's life. I still harbor some guilt over never going back to visit him - some part of me kept saying, "I'll make plans. I'll call." The final lesson he taught me in death was that if there's someone who really matters to you, make the time now. One day it's going to be too late.

I miss you, Mr. M - and I'm sorry we never got to get that coffee. Thank you for being in my life, my father's life, and the lives of so many others.