My first interaction with Cathy Fiorello was during our School Psychology summer "boot camp" for cognitive assessment. That was also when I learned that Cathy and W. Joel Schneider would be my faculty supervisors throughout my time in graduate school. I began my doctoral program eager to learn everything, and I mean everything. I had endless questions about research and clinical practice, and I was ready to pick their brains every chance I got; they always had time for me despite their busy schedules.

Prior arriving to Temple to pursue my PhD in school psychology, I heard countless doctoral students say your faculty supervisors can really make your doctoral experience. They were absolutely right. If it had not been for Cathy and Joel, I probably would have quit a hundred times over.

I still remember my first impression of Cathy, with her bright blue hair. Coming from a more conservative academic environment, I had a very specific idea of what professors were supposed to be. Cathy completely changed that image for the better. She was brilliant, accomplished and incredibly knowledgeable, yet she never made herself feel unapproachable. Instead, she made students feel comfortable from day one. That comfort became one of her greatest gifts. Among school psychology students, we have a running joke. Whenever someone has a question, the answer is always the same: "We will ask Cathy."

Whether it was about cognitive assessment, practicum, research, internship or simply life, Cathy somehow always had time for us. She lived the phrase, "There are no dumb questions." In cognitive assessment, accuracy matters, and I vividly remember asking her whether 5 + 6 really did equal 11 because I wanted to be certain I wasn't making a scoring mistake. She answered that question with the same patience she gave to much more complicated discussions, never making students feel embarrassed for asking.

Now, if your PowerPoint font was too big? That was a different story.

Presentation meetings often became lively conversations about fonts, spacing, colors and visual balance. At the time, I thought she was simply detail-oriented. Now I realize she permanently changed the way I look at presentations. Thanks to Cathy (and Joel), I can no longer ignore designed slides without great visual representation. They unintentionally gave me a lifelong professional habit and a new pet peeve.

Cathy also had a remarkable way of celebrating our successes. Yes, she encouraged us with thoughtful feedback, but she also handed out butterfly stickers after major assessment assignments. To anyone outside our program, that probably sounds like a tiny gesture. To us, those butterfly stickers meant we had made it through another milestone. Even years later, school psychology alumni still smile when they talk about earning one.

But perhaps what makes Cathy extraordinary isn't how she celebrated our successes. It was how she carried us through our hardest moments. Graduate school is filled with stressful seasons of preparing for comprehensive exams, applying for internship, waiting for interviews, and wondering whether years of hard work will finally pay off. During those moments, Cathy's office became a safe haven.

If her door was open, chances would be there was already a student sitting inside. There were always candies on her desk, ready for whoever needed one that day. Looking back, I don't think the candy was why students kept coming back. It was Cathy. The candy was simply an added bonus.

When I was preparing for comprehensive exams and navigating the internship application process, Cathy was always there to listen. She never dismissed our worries with "You will be fine." Instead, she validated every emotion we were experiencing while gently helping us figure out the next practical step.

Her mentorship extended beyond academics. She noticed when something was wrong long before we said a word. I remember going through a particularly difficult time in my personal life, and before I ever mentioned it, Cathy simply asked, "How are you doing?" She knew that if I wasn't smiling or talking much, something was weighing on me; she knew her students.

That simple question meant more than she probably realized.

For many students, especially those from historically marginalized backgrounds, Cathy became a safe space. She made us feel that we belonged, that our voices mattered and that we could succeed even when we doubted ourselves.

One of Cathy's former students, Johnson Ho, describes her perfectly:

"As a graduate student, I was fortunate to have Cathy as a faculty mentor. I always appreciated our chats in her office, where her candor, sarcasm, compassion and humor made even the hardest parts of doctoral training feel more manageable. I also loved getting to nerd out with her about Pokémon, Dungeons & Dragons and our other shared geek interests. Cathy helped me navigate the challenges of being a doctoral student with honesty and kindness, and I will always be grateful for her guidance and support."

Johnson's memories echo my own. Cathy was never just a faculty supervisor. She was a mentor, an advocate, a confidante and someone who reminded us that becoming a psychologist also meant learning how to care for people—including her students.

As Cathy begins her retirement, her legacy does not end. It continues on in every student she mentored. It lives on every time we reassure a nervous trainee, celebrate someone's success, patiently answer a "simple" question or ask a struggling student "How are you doing?"

Many of us hope to become supervisors one day. If we are lucky enough to do so, I imagine we will all find ourselves asking the same question:

"What would Cathy do?"

To learn more about Cathy's career and contributions to the field, be sure to read her retirement feature.