1966–1967
We all have defining moments — not the ones that get headlines, but the quiet, behind-the-scenes sparks that ignite a fire deep inside. For me, the school year of 1966–1967 was one of those moments.
A New School, A New Start
A brand-new high school had just been completed not far from our farm, still within the same school district. It was named Theodore Roosevelt High School, and because it was brand new, it needed something most schools take for granted: an identity.
I was invited to be part of a small advisory student council — five or six of us — tasked with working alongside the district leadership to create the very foundation of Roosevelt’s culture: the motto, the school crest, the traditions, the spirit that would guide generations of students after us.
Creating a vision for something new gave me a sense of ownership and pride that I hadn’t known before. I was elected President of the Roosevelt High School Band, proud to lead both the concert and marching bands. I continued as First Chair Tuba, anchoring the sound that kept the band strong and steady.
Being part of something new, something bigger than any one of us, showed me what it meant to have a stake in a future that hadn’t been written yet.
My First Steady Job: Cleaning the Dentist’s Office
That same year, another important opportunity came into my life.
I landed my first steady job — cleaning a dentist’s office five nights a week. No boss watching over me. Just trust. Just responsibility.
$30 a month might not seem like much, but to me? It was fuel — for my old car, my confidence, The pay was $30 a month — and to me, it was gold.
Five nights a week, after closing time, I cleaned the dental practice — two chairs, a lab, an office, a waiting room, and a restroom. Every weekend, I stripped and waxed the terrazzo tile floors.
There were no supervisors. No bosses checking on me. Just a responsibility to a man who had trusted me.
That job taught me lessons about responsibility, self-discipline, and pride in doing good work even when nobody’s watching. It bought my gas, a few dates, and more than anything, it bought me independence.
The Teachers Who Spoke Life Into Me
Senior year wasn’t just about work. It was about influence — people who saw something in me I didn’t yet recognize.
Two women, in particular, helped change the course of my life.
Mrs. Lukeman was my Calculus II teacher.
She wasn’t your average high school math teacher. She had been a Vice President of Human Resources at a major corporation before her husband’s military career brought them to San Antonio. Rather than sit idle, she poured her skills into teaching — and lucky for me, I was one of her students.
She was firm but fair, sharp as a tack, and didn’t put up with foolishness.
I tested her patience plenty — flirting with the girls, cracking jokes — but she never gave up on me. Sometimes she’d rap my knuckles with a ruler, grinning as she did it, and tell me, “Focus, boy!”
Toward the end of that year, she pulled me aside one afternoon and said something that stunned me:
“Henry, someday you’re going to be a titan of industry.”
Nobody in my family had ever gone to college. My parents were proud, skilled blue-collar workers. College was a possibility — but a distant one.
And here was a woman who had lived in the world of business and leadership telling me that not only could I dream bigger — I should dream bigger.
That single sentence stayed with me, echoing across the years whenever I doubted myself.
Words matter. And that day, Mrs. Lukeman’s words planted a dream in my heart that would grow stronger with time.
Then there was Mrs. Currie, my English teacher.
Fiery, passionate, and strict — with a twinkle in her eye that let you know there was a heart as big as Texas behind her sharpness.
She demanded excellence, and she delivered it with humor and heart. She taught me the power of language, the power of clear thinking, and how words could build bridges or walls.
She saw the young man behind the jokes and mischief. And she believed in him.
Over the years, I made it a point to visit both of their graves — more than once — to quietly thank them for what they gave me.
They helped shape my destiny with nothing more than their belief, their standards, and their willingness to speak life into a young man still finding his way.
Why This Matters to YOU
That senior year — full of work, leadership, discipline, and dreams — laid the groundwork for everything that would come after.
It taught me that leadership starts early, when you step up to help build something new.
It taught me that responsibility is taken, not given.
And it taught me that dreams aren’t just fantasies. They’re seeds that need planting, watering, and protecting.
I didn’t know it yet, but I was standing at the edge of a much bigger journey.
And thanks to those lessons — I was ready.
Here’s the thing — no one starts with the whole picture. We don’t get a blueprint. We just get moments — like a new school, a hard job, a mentor who speaks life into us.
Those are the seeds of purpose. And if we nurture them, they grow into a life of leadership, impact, and legacy.
So here’s my challenge to you:
👉 Where are YOU being called to lead — even if the role feels small?
👉 Who has spoken belief into your life — and how can you do the same for someone else?
👉 Are you building something today that future generations will thank you for?
If you’re ready to lead with Trust, Respect, Integrity, and Purpose — the TRIP™ principles I coach on — then let’s connect. Because your journey matters. Book a free TRIP Method™ Strategy call here: https://henrychidgey.com/