My mother checked me out of school early on my sixth birthday and started driving, at least to me, in an unknown direction.

It was December 1989, and my half-day-of-school outings typically involved doctor appointments or corndog and slush rewards from the Shell station just off Tshudi Road in Amory. But on this day the drive was longer, and the suspense, I’m sure, grew, as my then-single mother managed yet again to meet my needs and knock out a great surprise in addition to my necessities.

The journey ended in Oxford, the day I tangibly connected with my childhood heroes. Russ Shows, the Ole Miss quarterback who -- in multiple years -- weekly received words of encouragement from this precocious kindergartner on handwriting paper, left me a birthday card that took up residence in my bedroom for likely much longer than would be deemed normal.

But instead of just a token, the highlight of the trip and the memory was a visit from Billy Brewer, the Ole Miss head coach and multi-position letterman who was named to the “Team of the Century” in 1993. Six-year-old memories are suspect and lacking in detail, but I have a picture in my head of that day — Brewer sitting with me, handing me a ball signed by many members of his 1989 team and sharing time and encouragement.

One of two balls I keep from my pre-career life is that one with Brewer’s cursive and Chris Mitchell’s "CREEK" plainly in focus despite other names having faded mostly away.

Brewer passed away on Saturday at the age of 82. He suffered a stroke earlier this year and had been dealing with heart issues. He leaves behind a beloved legacy that saw a complicated ending to his coaching tenure that lasted from 1983 to 1993 and featured five bowl games.

I heard the news in the Swayze Field press box, and my mind immediately went back to his act of kindness toward me almost three decades ago. I still have an elementary school worksheet where I listed The Billy Brewer Show as my favorite thing on television, and I remember wildly celebrating Brian Lee’s 51-yard field goal in the 1991 Gator Bowl to make it 7-3 at the time. Michigan and Desmond Howard eventually won by 32 points.

And on those Meet the Rebels days back then, Brewer was my prize signature, much the same as I see these days with Matt Luke or Mike Bianco. It’s a scene that sucks the cynicism from you, if only for a little bit.

Sure, a thorough examination of Brewer’s career includes paragraphs on multiple NCAA investigations and his battles with an administration that had fallen behind in the SEC to the point that catching up was only recently successful. But that doesn’t define Brewer the man, the character, the personality that presented to me greater joy than any celebrity could have accomplished that day in Oxford.

True character is how you treat people, the strands of moments and memories that connect to form relationships and construct a reputation. And that’s where Brewer excelled. He was loyal, lively, thankful and accommodating.

He and I formed a relationship in recent years that started over a bowl of potato salad at a potluck at Oxford-University United Methodist Church. He squeezed in beside me at the circular table and introduced himself. I sort of smirked and told him his reputation preceded him. I could see his gears turning in an attempt to discover my angle, but his deep laugh came next when I told him about a football and a birthday card from many years earlier.

Brewer didn’t believe me about the favorite show from kindergarten and asked to see evidence. Over the years we had brief conversations and a couple that lasted longer, mostly about family and a little football. I angled for stories from long ago, and he obliged more often than not.

I didn’t know him as well as most, including many of you, but he’s the reminder I need when putting sports into context. It may be a business and the source of many livelihoods, but fandom is about children and heroes and moments and acts of kindness. My 6-year-old self didn’t care if the Rebels were 8-4 or 2-10, and my Hutch football uniform fit the same whether Alabama or Tulane was on the other side of the field.

Ole Miss athletics are the primary part of my career now, and because of that I, of course, have a more complicated (not in a negative or positive connotation) relationship with my alma mater. But, at the end of the day, we’re writing about sports and people and should be searching for the stories about the joy and escapism that only athletics can provide.

Brewer taught me those emotions, took the time to elevate what was his mundane and my elation. It’s a life lesson — and a career lesson — I hope I never forget.

Rest in peace, Billy. And thank you again from my younger self.