Kim Jones was not someone that anyone really ever "met;" rather, she was "experienced." She had a way of embracing everything about you, sizing you up effortlessly, and then shining her smile, her laugh, her sharp wit right at you. I don't even remember the first time I ever saw her, because it seems that she'd always been a part of my life. There is so much talk in business and in schools lately about the need for mentors, and the responsibilities they have to teach, guide and build their mentees. Kim, I got the impression, could've cared less about that. And yet, she was the finest mentor a person could be. Perhaps, no, very likely, for the very reason that she wasn't looking to fill that role: her purpose was to make good swimmers when she was coaching, to do the best job she could while she was working. She had high expectations, but not unreasonable--everything was achievable, it just might take a helluva lot of work, energy, guts, whatever, to get there! She always smiled at me from the pool deck. She always listened to what I had to say. She always assured me that Guy was the greatest thing since sliced bread, and that the boys were growing up to be men we could be proud of. She grumbled on occasion, but always, always in such a way that we'd both laugh. And even when I sat with her one day and we both were crying, she managed to pull out that trademark Kim smile, and make it all a little lighter, a little easier to bear. It was a gift.
And I mean to pass it on.
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