Thomas Edward "Tom" Wheeler

📖 Life Story

Where I started

I was born in Richmond in 1964, in a house on Lancaster Avenue my parents bought the year before for fourteen thousand five hundred dollars. My father was a bookkeeper. My mother taught second grade for thirty-four years. From my bedroom window I could see the lights of Madison Central half a mile down the road. I'd later teach there for thirty-one years. At the time I just thought it was where the older kids went on Friday nights. My father grew up in Estill County and didn't talk about it. By the time I thought to ask, he was gone. That's most of why I'm doing this.

Why I taught history

I had a high school history teacher named Mr. Carlisle. Sophomore year, 1980. He was the first adult who ever made me understand that history was just stories about real people who had to figure things out without knowing how it would turn out. Before him I thought history was a list of dates to memorize. After him I thought it was the most interesting thing in the world. I decided that year I'd do for somebody else what he did for me. It took me until 1989 to actually walk into a classroom of my own. He retired the year before. I never got to tell him.

Coaching

I coached JV basketball at Madison Central from 1995 to 2017. Twenty-two seasons. I was never going to be a varsity coach and I never wanted to be. JV is where you find out what a kid is made of before anyone's watching. There was a freshman named Marcus in 2003 who couldn't make a layup. I mean could not — he'd get to the rim and freeze. We worked on it after practice for six weeks. He made varsity by his junior year. I still get a Christmas card from him. I stopped coaching in 2017 because my knees were done and because I'd run out of new things to say at halftime. Both reasons were true.

What I want my sons to know

I have two sons. Michael is thirty-six and Andrew is thirty-three. They are good men. I had very little to do with that — your mother did most of the work, and they did the rest themselves. But I showed up. Every game, every recital, every middle-of-the-night phone call when one of you couldn't sleep. I want it on the record that I showed up. Not because I want credit. Because I want you to know it's the only thing that matters. I married your mother in 1988. Best decision I ever made and I knew it the day I made it. If I did one thing right by you, it was that. If I could do one thing over, I'd have asked my own father more questions. Don't make that mistake with me. Ask. I'll tell you anything.

For grandchildren I haven't met yet

I don't have grandchildren yet. Maybe I will, maybe I won't. Either way, this chapter is for you if you ever show up. I'm writing this in 2026. By the time you read it, I might be gone. I might be sitting across from you. There's no way to know from where I'm sitting now. So here's what I want you to know about me, just in case: I loved your grandmother. I loved your father — whichever one of mine you came from. I taught school for thirty-one years and coached basketball for twenty-two. I was born in Richmond, Kentucky, and I died there too — assuming things go the way I expect. I would have liked to know you.

📷 Photographs