JD Dyas

The Serendipity of Friendship: My Journey with JD Dyas

Sometimes, friendships grow naturally over years of shared experiences, but other times they spark unexpectedly, through nothing more than a chance encounter. My friendship with JD was one of the latter — a meeting shaped by serendipity.

We both worked for the same school district, though our paths rarely crossed. JD was in a different department, and I only knew him in passing, aware of his reputation as a proper, no-nonsense guy who was excellent at his job. In contrast, I was more the office joker — always ready with a quip or a comeback to lighten the mood. At first glance, it seemed unlikely that we would ever become close. In fact, our shared office building was the only common thread between us.

It was a few years ago, just after I bought a house in Ensenada, Mexico, where I could indulge in my passion for kayak fishing. After weekends on the water, I would return to the office still buzzing from my adventures, eager to talk about my latest catches. One Monday morning, JD happened to walk by, and on a whim, I asked if he liked to fish. He smiled and told me he hadn’t fished since childhood, but he had fond memories of it. Without hesitation, I invited him to come along with me the following weekend. To my surprise, he agreed — and that was the start of a lifelong friendship.

JD hailed from Chicago, although he was born in Nebraska. Chicago was the city that shaped him, and it came with all the quirks you’d expect, including his undying loyalty to the Cubs. I’ll never forget the Halloween he dressed up as a Cubs player — a true diehard fan through thick and thin, more often than not on the thin side.

That first trip to Ensenada changed everything. JD took to kayak fishing as if he had been doing it his whole life. We spent the weekend catching fish, cooking them for dinner, and talking late into the night. The more we talked, the more I realized just how much we had in common, especially our sense of humor, which was equally warped. Our conversations flowed easily, and by the end of that trip, I knew this wasn’t going to be a one-time outing. We returned to the office with one thing on our minds: when were we going to do it all again?

But our connection went far beyond fishing. In JD, I found more than a buddy; I found someone I could talk to — really talk to. He had a rare ability to listen, to truly hear what people were saying, and I soon found myself confiding in him more than I had with any other male friend. JD was genuine, sincere, and grounded. If I was drifting off into one of my many wild ideas, JD was always the one who could bring me back down to earth. He became like an older brother to me, someone I could trust for honest advice, even when I didn’t want to hear it.

JD was an exceptional person in every sense, especially when it came to his work. He was a dedicated special education teacher, and his commitment to his students was unwavering. His understanding of the field was deep, and he used that knowledge to truly make a difference in the lives of the students he worked with. His passion for his job was inspiring, and it was clear to everyone who knew him that he was a rare find — the kind of teacher who leaves a lasting impact.

Over time, JD became more than just a friend to me; he became a part of my family. My kids adored him. He was the fun uncle who listened to them and played with them, sometimes acting like a big kid himself. He never missed a birthday or a graduation, and he showed up to every one of my son Nick’s hockey games. JD wasn’t just there to watch; he understood the game inside and out, offering Nick tips and strategies that only deepened their bond.

Our fishing trips became more frequent, and they weren’t just about fishing anymore. They became our therapy sessions, where we could vent about work, life, and everything in between. Working in education isn’t easy, and it can take a toll on you if you don’t have a way to release the stress. For me, those campfires with JD were the perfect outlet. He listened patiently, always offering sage advice when I needed it most. He was my rock in those moments — the calm to my storm.

One of the many things I admired about JD was his knack for doing the right thing. He had a way of knowing when to step in and when to let things play out, and he always seemed to make the right call at the right time. Me, on the other hand? I was impulsive, sometimes to a fault. There were plenty of times in Ensenada when I wanted to head off into sketchy areas or take risks I probably shouldn’t have. JD would always reel me back in, keeping me grounded before I got myself into trouble.

More than anything, JD believed in me — sometimes more than I believed in myself. He was convinced that I was some kind of genius when it came to educational technology, even though I felt like I was just winging it most of the time. His belief in me became especially important toward the end of my career. I had been honored as my school’s Teacher of the Year, but it didn’t feel like much of an achievement since the award was often passed around. However, there was a second round of competition for District Teacher of the Year, which required a detailed application and essays.

I hadn’t planned on applying, figuring it wasn’t worth the effort, but JD pushed me to go for it. He reminded me that the work I was doing was groundbreaking and that I deserved to be recognized. With his encouragement — and his help editing my application — I went through with it. In the end, I came close, placing second. I might not have won the award, but without JD’s support, I wouldn’t have even made it that far.

JD has been more than just a friend. He’s been a brother, a mentor, and an inspiration to me and my family. He has a way of making everyone around him better, myself included. My life is richer for having JD in it, and I can’t imagine it any other way.