I knew two twins growing up: Hank and Mr. Weatherby.

Mr. Weatherby was my high school Computer Applications teacher. He always wore a bowtie, a pocket protector and what can only be described as NASA glasses. He also founded and ran the school’s Robotics & A/V club. I’m sure Mr. Weatherby had a first name, but by his students, his family and everyone who ever knew him, he was always and forever known as Mr. Weatherby.

Hank was his twin brother. He lived in the apartment complex owned by my uncle. Hank wore cowboy boots, a handlebar mustache and kept a softpack of Marlboro Reds rolled up in his sleeve. On the weekends, he shot pistols and worked on his motorcycle in the apartment parking lot. No one called him anything but Hank.

In school, Mr. Weatherby taught me how to code in BASIC. In his apartment, Hank taught me how to check the specific gravity of a saltwater tank. Mr. Weatherby got us to understand the principles of robotics. Hank and my uncle taught me how to draw a bead with a revolver. Mr. Weatherby gave seminars on logging in to the internet. Hank shared stories about his MC in the 70s.

The two never spoke as far I was aware.

If we’re lucky, we get a mix of chthonic and ouranic teachers in our lives. We surely need both. As well-meaning as our chaplains, guidance counselors and track coaches are, they can’t teach you what you can learn from the ex-con who works your late shift, the subsistence fisherman at the end of town or the street mechanic who takes cash only for PDR.

I was the kind of kid who tended to side-eye society. Sure, I understood that the ship more or less stayed the course, but all those cracks in the yardarms bothered me. Not the problems themselves, but the handwaving most adults would perform when I’d ask about them. The denial they were even there. So, I tended to believe the chthonic types more than I would any straight society leadership. They knew about the cracks because they lived in them.

In order to have a chthonic education, however, one has to have the freedom required to be found by its mentors. Fionn learned from The Tooth because his aunties maintained a loose hand on his upbringing. Gawain learned exactly who he was in the Green Chapel because Arthur intuited that Camelot would never provide that for him. Jim Hawkins wizened up with Long John Silver in ways he never would had he stayed an innkeeper’s son. And Harry’s most profound lessons came after class, when the Hogwarts candles went out and he was supposed to be in bed.

This is getting harder to do in the days of Ring cameras, child tracking apps and organized play dates. Americans trust each other less now than at any time in the past half century. It’s getting so bad that there are now festivals devoted to educating adults on the very concept of public trust.

About a decade ago, had you seen me out in the world, chances were none that you and I would have had a conversation. I would have had my headphones on, I would have used self-checkout and I would have ordered via app wherever and whenever possible. I do none of these things now. Charity was easier to come by in the Middle Ages for the simple reason that most feared not that a wandering beggar might hold them up, but that he could be Jesus in disguise. Courage is knowing what you ought to fear.

We all want a little peace and quiet, a little safety. Of course we do. But only sometimes is safety what we need. These days, more often than not, it’s just another way we deprive ourselves the opportunity to meet the mentor we need the most.

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