Nine were apologies. Real ones — specific, dated, naming a thing.

One of them names the shoes.

One of them is from a woman who was in his homeroom for four years and says she never said a single word to him and has thought about that since her own son started high school.

Eleven were some version of “what was that about?” Friendly.

Baffled.

Two of them asked whether he was all right.

Six were angry, which is fair, and two of those were from people who had spent the following week being asked by their spouses which company held paper on their business.