A local superintendent invited
me to speak to his faculty and staff as part of their personal/professional
development on their first day back for the new school year. He told me their word for the year was believe—believe
in the students so that they might believe in themselves and improve themselves
this year. I was honored to be
asked. I had never done anything like
this in my life, so I was a little nervous about too. Anyway, some of the listeners found it
encouraging, so I am posting here for any other teachers who might benefit from
this as well. It’s much longer than my
typical blog (the superintendent told me to speak for 20 minutes). But you can decide in a few paragraphs if it’s
worth your time.
********************
Mary
Ann Bird, a little girl from Massachusetts, was born with a cleft palate. She was constantly teased and taunted in ways
that made it clear to her how she must look to other children—misshapen lip,
lopsided teeth, crooked nose, and garbled speech. She was ashamed and often lied about her
condition. She wanted people to think it
was caused by an accident rather than believe she was born this way. By the age of seven, Mary Ann was convinced
that no one outside her family could ever love her or even like her.
Then
she entered second grade and Mrs. Leonard's class. Everyone adored Mrs. Leonard, even Mary Ann.
In
those days hearing tests were given in school.
Mary Ann was barely able to hear out of one ear. She could not bear to reveal yet another
problem that would single her out as different from everyone else, so she
cheated. As the teacher conducted the
test, Mary Ann would sneak a peek at the other children and when she saw them
raising their hands, she raised hers too.
But she couldn't escape being singled out in the whisper test where each
child had to go to the door of the room, turn sideways, and block one ear with
a finger. The teacher would then whisper
something like, "The sky is
blue," or "Do you have new
shoes?" and the child would have to repeat it.
Mary
Ann dreaded this test. As one by one the
students in front of her made their trip to the door for the test, Mary Ann
grew increasingly anxious. She held onto
her desk until her knuckles turned white.
But her turn finally came. She
just knew she would be found out.
Anticipating her shame she walked on up and stood at the door. She pretended to block her good ear, hoping
that nobody would notice. And as she
stood there, petrified by her fear, Mrs. Leonard softly whispered, "I wish you were my little girl."[1]
Mary Ann Bird called those
words “the seven words that changed my
life forever.” Those words didn’t
come from a parent. They didn’t come
from a preacher. They didn’t come from a
friend. The seven words that changed her
life forever came from a teacher—a teacher who chose to believe in a student
that most others had written off.
You teachers can have a
powerful impact in the life of your students.
Your belief in them, your encouragement in their lives, can change their
lives in significant ways—from “I can’t”
students to “I can” students; from “who cares?” students to “I care” students; from “I can’t wait to get out of school”
students to “I can’t wait to embrace my
future” students.
Teachers who believed in me and
encouraged me made impact in my life I remember to this day.
I still remember my 5th
grade teacher, Mrs. Dennis, pulling
me aside one day and saying, “John, I
think you’re going places—you have a really good attitude.” As a kid from a broken home, I was insecure
and lacked confidence, and her words gave me life. That was 1966, some 48 years ago. I don’t remember anything else she said that
school year, but I remember those words to this day. She believed in me.
I remember in 6th
grade when Mr. Needham asked me to
be the first captain of the first ever Safety Patrol at the crosswalks at
Branson Elementary School. He saw
something in me I never saw in myself: leadership potential. Sadly, I got tired of being teased for wearing
my shoulder belt and my badge, and after about three months, I quit. I still remember the astonished look on his
face and the first words he said to me, “I’m
stunned.” He believed in me, and I
let him down. He did his part: he believed in me. I failed in my part—not because I couldn’t lead but because I wouldn’t lead. As you teachers and coaches already know,
you’ll believe in some kids that will let you down. But please don’t stop believing in kids.
I remember Miss Kinsinger asking me to give the speech at my 8th-grade
graduation. I wasn’t close to being
valedictorian. I wasn’t really a class
leader, but I guess she saw something in me and assigned me that task. It went well.
I received much encouragement.
That would be my first taste of public speaking. Little did I know at the time that I would
end up making a career of public speaking as a pastor. She believed in me.
I remember Roy Gertson asking me to write for my high school paper. I had never written anything except a few
thank you notes after Christmas and a few letters to my dad. But he saw some potential in me, asked me to
write for the paper, and I’ve been writing this and that ever since. He believed in me.
I remember my senior year, my
first year to take “chorus” (I thought it would be easy—no homework) when Mr. Shurtz asked me to sing a solo for
district contest. I could carry a tune
but it never occurred to me to sing a solo.
But he saw that capacity in me.
He worked with me after school a few times, got me ready, and I sang a
solo for contest. And more than 40 years
later I still remember some of one of the songs I sang: “You can’t take it with you, Brother Will, Brother John, you can’t take
it with you when you die.” That
experience gave me courage to sing more solos in the future in church and to my
girlfriend with my guitar. He believed
in me.
And I remember Coach Russell. It was my senior year. I was on the track team for a school that
didn’t even have a track. But we
practiced in an open field and on the lakefront—where the Branson Landing is
now. I was in one of those situations as
a kid where if I didn’t work I didn’t have any money, so I tried to balance
work and track. I couldn’t practice
every day. Didn’t have the discipline or
time to run much on my own. But my boss
let me off for meets. I remember one of
those meets. I ran the 880 and a leg in
the 2-mile relay. The 2-mile relay was
one of the first events. I was
nervous. I knew I wasn’t ready, wasn’t
in my best running shape. I got the
baton second, and we were in second place.
I took off and actually felt really good. By the end of the first lap I caught and
passed the runner in first place. I
opened up a 15 yard lead or so on him and maintained that lead till the last
turn home. Suddenly, my legs felt like
lead, my lungs were on fire, my pulse was pounding like a bass drum in my head,
and I hit the wall. I finished, but the
second place runner just went racing by me at the end. I stumbled out into the infield and puked out
everything I had eaten that day. I was
discouraged. I so wanted to win. Coach Russell found me after the race. He was smiling. I thought it was because I was puking and he
could say, “See, when you don’t practice
every day, this is what happens.”
But you know what he said? He said,
“McCallum, you just ran the best time you
ever ran in your life. I’m proud of you,
boy.” He believed in me.
And Coach Russell helped me
realize that while I didn’t win the
race, I won my race. I did the best I could under my
circumstances. That’s helped me keep
perspective on many things throughout my life.
And it’s helped me help others do the same.
And
maybe that’s one thing you can do for your students and your athletes this
school-year. Encourage them to run their race and win their
race. Notice their potential. And do whatever you can to help them see it
too. Believe in your students so that
they might believe in themselves.
And you know how that works. Every teacher I’ve known, whether they would
admit it or not, have their favorite students.
They just like some kids better than others: maybe it’s chemistry, maybe
the teacher knows the family, maybe it’s the kids’ talents, maybe the kid is
fun to have in class and be around—I don’t know. But you
know. And you also know that it’s pretty
easy to believe in kids like that, to encourage kids like that, to invest a
little more time in kids like that. And
there’s nothing wrong with that—that’s human nature, that’s life.
But here’s the deal about kids
like that. They are kids that most everybody believes
in. They probably benefit from strong
parental love and encouragement. Other
teachers love them too. Some of them are
part of churches that love them. They’ve
likely enjoyed some successes along the way in school or sports or music. They are easy to believe in because they’ve
proved themselves over and over. Keep on
believing in these kids. Keep on
encouraging them to get better and do better.
Keep on expecting much of them.
Celebrate their successes and encourage them when they fail.
But could I ask you to do something else this
school-year? What if in your classes
this year, you deliberately look for two or three Mary Ann Birds who are kind
of on the edge, who maybe don’t have the greatest home-life or the best grades,
and seek to believe in that kid, to build into that kid, to help that kid see
her potential and become what she may never be without your belief in her and
your encouragement?
I’m a pastor, so I can’t help
but get a little theological for a moment, so please bear with me. My kids are long since grown and have kids of
their own, but when they were in school, my wife and I decided we would
exercise no influence over who their teacher would be in any given grade. We could have. Their elementary school principal was a
personal friend and a faithful member of the church I served. But we asked God to be in charge of
that. And we chose to trust that God
would put our kids with the teacher they needed most and among a class they
needed most to grow their lives. Now, we
didn’t always like God’s choice. But by
the end of each year we could see and so could our kids that God knew what He
was doing.
I say that to say this: in my
judgment the students who will sit at the desks in your classroom are not there
coincidentally. They are there because
they don’t just need a geometry credit or a biology credit or an English credit
or a foreign language credit; they need you. And because God loves you and God loves those
kids, He has put you together. You
already know that you don’t just teach subjects so much as you teach
students. So teach those students and
believe in those students and encourage those students. And maybe pick out one or two or three in
whom you can make a real difference. You
can help a stone become flesh, a bud become a bloom, and a defeated kid taste a
little success. You can be another Mrs.
Leonard to another Mary Ann Bird.
I
guess I’m asking you to become an encourager. The word encouragement is from the French word coeur: it means to put “heart” into someone. You probably see more than your share of kids
who could stand having some “heart” put into them. Encouragement happens when you speak from
your heart to someone else’s fears or failures.
Some are better encouragers than others, but all of us can do it at some
level. And for some of the kids in your
classroom, any level you can offer may well be more than they’re getting
anywhere else.
When the opportunity arises to
encourage a kid, do it. And I don’t so
much mean group encouragement: “This is a
great class. You’re great students.” The kids who get a lot of encouragement may
benefit from that, but the kid who doesn’t will assume that you really mean
everybody but him. So find ways to offer
individual encouragement. And when you
get the opportunity, do it. Don’t hold it back and give it to them
straight.
Garrison Keillor writes:
The town ball club was the Lake Wobegon Schroeders, so named because the
starting nine were brothers, sons of E. J. Schroeder. E. J. was ticked off if a boy hit a bad
pitch. He’d spit and curse and rail at
him. And if a son hit a home run, E. J.
would say, “Blind man coulda hit that
one. Your gramma coulda put the wood on
that one. If a guy couldn’t hit that one
out, there’d be something wrong with him, I’d say. Wind practically took that one out of here,
didn’t even need to hit it much”—and lean over and spit.
So his sons could never please him, and if they did, he forgot about
it. Once, against Freeport
What kind of encouragement is that?
That’s the kind too many of your kids get at home. You can do better than that as their teacher. Kids who don’t get much encouragement need it
straightforward and in clear language they can understand. If they think you believe in them, they may start believing in themselves, and
then the bar they set for themselves starts getting higher and higher and
higher. Don’t hold back encouragement or
couch it in some backdoor way; offer it.
I always found that the best encouragement teachers gave me was honest feedback on the work that I did:
written feedback on papers or tests, even just a line or two, affirming what I
did right, helping me to see how to do other stuff better. Huge encouragement for me! From grade school to doctoral work, the
teachers that encouraged me the most, the ones that I remember the best, are
those who gave me personal feedback in word or in written form. It’s discouraging to write a 20-page paper
and get a grade and nothing else, even if the grade is an A. Makes a student wonder if the teacher even
read the paper or the essay on the test.
I had some friends who put a nursery rhyme in their lengthy essay just
to see if the teacher read it, and a lot of teachers didn’t. I’ve had all kinds of teachers in regard to
feedback—from none to some to a lot. So
I made it a point in the teaching I’ve done at Midwestern Seminary and OBU to
give written feedback on the work that’s presented. It takes more time. But it’s worth the effort. Many former students have told me that they
really appreciated the fact that I took time and interacted with them and the
work they presented. Personal, honest
feedback feeds the soul of a kid.
Have you read The Kite Runner
by Khaled Hosseini? Great book! The
central character is an Afghan boy named Amir.
The story is told from his point of view. His father is prominent and demanding, a man
unfamiliar with the ways of the heart.
But another man, Rahim, works for his father, and this man understood
the heart and always took a special interest in Amir. On one occasion, Amir had written a story. His father and Rahim were in the room,
sipping branding and smoking cigars.
Amir asked if his father would read his story. His father declined, just sort of blew him
off in a way that cut out Amir’s heart.
But Rahim took the story and said he’d be glad to read it. And when he returned the story to Amir he handed
him a note to go with it. “Then,” says Amir, “he paused and added a single word that did more to encourage me to
pursue writing than any compliment any editor has ever paid me. That word was Bravo.” The note itself was just as encouraging and
closed with these lines: “My door is and
always will be open to you, Amir jan. I
shall hear any story you have to tell.
Bravo. Your Friend, Rahim.”[3]
Take time to give some individual feedback. It’s encouraging. It can put heart into a student. It can call forth better effort and harder
work. It can build confidence in a kid. It can make a Mary Ann Bird spread her wings
and fly to heights she never imagined.
Give honest feedback to your students in whatever ways best connect with
the individual kid.
And could I encourage you to be
available now and then before or after school to meet with the student who
needs a little extra encouragement and teaching. I know you’ve got lives. I know you’re busy. And I know you can’t do this every day. The kid’s schedule may not make that possible
either. But could you do it some, now
and then, for those two or three kids in your class who need the extra encouragement? You will know when it’s important. You will figure out a way to do this. And in doing so, you will communicate to that
kid that she counts, she matters, you believe she’s worth your time and effort,
and you’ll see a better student and a better kid as a result of that little
lagniappe, that little something extra, you offer to the kids who need it most.
When you believe in kids and encourage them, I guarantee years from now, some adult is going to say to a friend
over a cup of coffee in the break room in his engineering firm, “You know, if it hadn’t been for Ms.
Crawford believing in me and spending a little extra time to help me figure out
my calculus, I may well be spending my day asking the question, ‘Do you want to
super-size your order?’”
And some other adult is going to say to a patient, “I don’t think I’d have become a dentist if Mr. Clark hadn’t encouraged
me not to quit at biology but to take chemistry too.”
And still some other adult is going to say to someone, “My 6th-grade teacher is why I am
a teacher today.”
Who knows? One of these days some
Mary Ann Bird might be writing about the forever difference you made in her life.
When you believe in your students and invest in the particular lives of
your students, they will remember you the rest of their lives, and they will
rise up and call you blessed someday whether you ever know about it or not.
In
some ways this may seem like a lot to ask, but really, I’m just asking you as a
voice from our community, to lay hold of
the ideals that brought you into teaching and coaching in the first place. (I know it wasn’t the money.) So lay hold of those ideals. Believe in those kids. Invest in those kids. You will be disappointed sometimes, and you
won’t bat 1.000. But swing the bat. In the 1957 World Series between the
Milwaukee Braves and the New York Yankees, Hank Aaron, the great home run
hitter, stepped to the plate. Yankee
catcher Yogi Berra, ever the talker, said, “Henry,
you’re holding the bat wrong. You’re
supposed to hold it so you can read the trademark.” Aaron looked back at him but didn’t say a
word. When the next pitch came, Aaron
hit it into the left field bleachers.
After rounding the bases and touching home plate, Hank Aaron looked at
Yogi Berra and said, “I didn’t come up
here to read.”[4]
You
didn’t become a teacher just to teach math or Spanish or industrial arts. You became a teacher to impact the lives of
students. So swing for the fences. And man!
What a difference you will make.
