What a strange week. In addition to all kinds of disparate things going on that needed to be fixed, written, and otherwise dealt with, two different events have preoccupied me. The first, the happy one, takes place this week. In fact, it may be going on when you read this.

“Opera Boot Camp.” Yes, I was invited to present a three-hour “Opera 101” session for the annual Opera America National Conference. As with any industry, there are people working in opera administration (marketing, finance, publications, etc.) who never were singers, musicians, or even concentrated in the arts. So I will try to cover opera history and terminology from A to Z in one grand blast. I’m excited!

But while preparing this material, my mind has been gently embracing a person who passed two weeks ago—a man who influenced our family in the dearest way while gliding atop 8 wheels: John Mahon.

Johnny (as everyone called him) was a nationally known, top-notch professional roller skater. Every champion ribbon or trophy in the sport stood on his shelf. I could recount more details of his long career, but that misses the point. What he really did was teach, especially in the last decades of his life. Here in the Dallas-Fort Worth area skating rinks, he taught and coached not only the fanciest skating athletes, but uncounted hosts of regular kids. He gave some of them their first skating lesson. And sometimes he took an adult like me, who has had absolutely no ability or athletic accomplishment in her whole life, and taught her to skate.

Here’s how it happened in our family. For about 5 years I sat and graded papers while my daughter Helen took weekly lessons from Johnny. Helen stumbled into skating and Johnny at an old-fashioned skating rink in Mesquite, Texas. He and his radiant wife Sue (both of whom also were masters of ballroom dancing) were the king and queen of the facility.

Under Johnny’s magical, persuasive teaching, our daughter achieved a high level of proficiency. Think of it as “the Zen of Roller Skating”—that’s how he taught. He even persuaded Helen (not competition-minded) to enter a competition for the good of her own confidence. She took first place. Shortly afterwards, we moved two hours away to a ranch, and lessons with Johnny were no longer possible.

But wait, I said that Johnny taught me to skate. If you know me, you realize what a wild statement that is. I can barely walk cross a room sometimes. I crash into things. My students and friends know this well. But Johnny kept saying to me “You should learn.” And then, after all those years of sitting, he won me over.

So I bought skates and started my lessons. I was so embarrassed at first. For the longest time, I barely could stand. But in the most magical of transitions, over a few months, I learned to keep my balance and to skate around as if it were almost natural. Then I learned steps. No, I wasn’t ever going to become a competitive skater or even a skate-dancer (although Johnny had me convinced I could do the latter, if I kept with it). But I did learn crossovers, and I basic formations like the Arabesque.

Ah, the Arabesque!! It’s probably the prettiest I ever felt in my life. I had this skating outfit (don’t laugh). It was powder blue (I never wear that color), simple, and pretty. (No, there are no pictures.) It’s hard to take a picture of yourself skating and cell-phone photos hadn’t happened yet. But my mind’s eye has it captured perfectly.

Johnny made it happen. He was that kind of teacher. Certainly I couldn’t have done it without him. He taught more than skating, too. For certain, he taught my daughter many critical things about life—more than she possibly could realize at the time. He was also that kind of teacher.

We both wept at the news of his passing, although our weeping was different. In my case, I was saddest to think of the hosts of kids who would never have Johnny as their teacher. They will never experience the inimical John Mahon style (he almost always taught with a styrofoam cup of coffee in one hand). My daughter wept because she understood that the potential of being in the presence of such a glorious man was no longer possible.

And at the Memorial Skate Party held for him this past Sunday, hundreds of people celebrated the life of their beloved teacher by joyful, tearful conversation and gracious skating. And yes, some made a point of carrying that coffee cup too.

Here in Texas we’ve just experienced Teacher Appreciation Week. Bouquets of flowers, candy, Starbuck gift cards, and other gifts have filled many a teacher’s desk. In most cases, we tend to think of “academic” teaching in classrooms. But let’s stop and consider the endless list of angel-teachers who instruct everything from roller-skating to woodworking to gardening to driver’s ed. The gift for teaching is the same, no matter the subject or skill.

I’m grateful I have known Johnny, and I’m grateful to have had a lifetime of teaching. Regarding the “Opera 101” session, let’s just say that I want it to be useful for these highly professional and dedicated administrators. I hope I’ll be able to strengthen their skills and enable them better to share the joy and wonder of this magnificent thing called opera.

Opera and roller-skating. I’ve put them together! But wait: Gene Kelly already did it a long time ago, matching his delectable singing and magnificent roller skating in a musical called It’s Always Fair Weather (1955). Take a look, if you’ve forgotten.

R.I.P., Maestro John Mahon.