A Pitch Perfect Happy Birthday

Today he would have turned forty-seven. Three days before he died in December of 2018 he called me to say goodbye and to make me promise to leave my position at a company I had created and grown for a decade. Unwillingly, I promised. He promised to help me from up there the way he did from down here. And on his birthday today, I feel his loving spirit wrapped around me like a warm hug. 

Birthdays measure more than time. They measure the distance between who we were and who we’re becoming, the people we miss and the futures they still shape. I didn’t plan it this way, but I spent today, his birthday, drafting a sponsorship package that could become the most meaningful partnership of my career—a financial literacy arm that helps kids feel confident with money.

I don’t think it’s an accident.

My north star is simple: give kids tools they can actually use—short lessons, approachable stories, quick games, books (obviously) and small actions they can try the same day. No lectures. No jargon. Just practical steps that make money feel less scary and more doable, especially in classrooms where time and resources are tight.

And then there was the Zoom.      

I had been up until 3 a.m. crafting the deck. My dry run was the live run. I fumbled a bit, lost my place more than once, and admitted I was running on adrenaline and heart—and somehow, it was electric. Faces leaned in. Smiles were large. Nods were frequent. They laughed in the right spots, and—most importantly—saw the kids in it, and saw me. When the call ended, I just sat there for a minute in the quiet. It was one of those rare, crystalline moments that I will never forget. He was there with me, in some unseen way.

This potential partnership would help scale what already works: more classrooms supported, more families starting simple, hopeful conversations early at home. We’re keeping it education-only and kid-first, with materials that are easy to teach, easy to share, and easy to measure. When the time is right, I’ll share the details. For now, I can say this: the pieces are coming together in a way that feels grounded and hopeful. I know like I know, he would have loved this. 

Grief can make you small. It can also make you clear. Today made it me clear. I don’t control timelines, inboxes, or approvals. I control showing up. I control the quality and kindness of the work. I control being a good human in this business. Doing the right thing. I ensure that we continue to develop tools worthy of the children who will use them.

Kent and Kristi, 2005

 So here’s my quiet promise, on forty-seven: I'll keep         "walking through the open doors" and keep making learning that respects children and the adults who love them. We’ll keep turning big ideas into small steps. We’ll count impact in human terms—teachers who feel supported, kids who feel proud of a choice, families who find a calmer way to talk about financial literacy, and all the while will use these concepts to help kids fall in love with books and reading, too, like I promised you I would...

When the yes arrives—and I believe it will—we’ll be ready. Until then, we keep going. For the classrooms we serve. For the future we can see and feel. And for the people we love who still nudge us forward, even on the days we miss them most.

Thank you, Kent for reminding me it my job to "walk through the open doors," and as far as this door is concerned, I built the door, and I think I have the key. We'll see if it fits. Happy birthday and thank you for all of your endless support. It is felt. Always.