She is, rightfully, proud of her child, and for all the right reasons. But she also wanted to recognize the role played by her child's teachers, because she understood they were crucial to her child's success, and more importantly, to her child's sense of self-worth. She has no idea how right she is.
I have been thinking about that post all day, because it hit a chord down deep inside me. I have always been... shall we say... athletically challenged. I cannot make sense of a ball, whether it is in my hand, on the ground, in the air, or anywhere else. If I run too hard, I get exercise induced asthma and cannot breathe. I broke my foot playing soccer in elementary PE because I am a klutz. I can't dance, I can't jump without losing my balance, and I am hopeless at games of any kind. I am uncoordinated and I can't Just Do It, no matter how much I may want to, or how hard I try.
Red Rover stands out for me as a dreaded childhood experience, because I could never break the chain, no matter how hard I ran across the divide, and I wouldn't hold on when someone tried to run through on my side, either, because I didn't want to get hurt. (I played piano, I wasn't going to break my wrist for a silly game.) So naturally, everyone soon learned I was the weak link, and would always come at me full speed.
Looking back on it now, the other kids must have been so exasperated with me, and from my adult perspective, I can't really blame them. But I have to give them credit, most of them never really showed it, at least that I noticed. (Let me be clear, here. I wasn't the last one they picked. I didn't even get that far. Instead, I was the one they fought over as to who would have to take me!) But it never felt terrible, because they would always handle it with good grace when they lost, so I didn't really end up feeling bad about it.
When we went to junior high, things changed. We didn't have recess any more, and our PE teacher was serious about sports. The more pressure she put on me to get it right, the worse I got. I froze. I stumbled. I whiffed. I fell. Eventually, I had panic attacks at the thought of going to class, knowing what a long hour it would be. The only thing that got me through the locker room door in high school was the thought that I was one session closer to never having PE again.
I think the last year we were forced to take PE was tenth grade. On the final day of class, I brought my gym suit home from school, went to the burn pile in the back yard, and set it on fire. Watching that gym suit burn up and and seeing the embers fly away remains one of the most satisfying moments of my life. But the story doesn't end there, at least, not for me.
That teacher had an opportunity to foster the little ability I had, and encourage me to do what I could, even if I wasn't very talented at it. She could have helped me figure out something that I might have enjoyed (I wasn't completely awful at tennis, for example, and I might have even enjoyed it, if she hadn't constantly criticized me.)
But instead, she picked on me, yelled at me, punished me for being incompetent at something I simply had no talent for, and belittled me in front of my classmates for not being as skilled as they were. Eventually, I just gave up, because I knew, no matter what I did, it would never be enough, anyway.
She wasn't interested in my best. She was interested in The Best, and I was never going to be it. Therefore, I wasn't worth her time, and she made that clear.
It was all so demoralizing and embarrassing, especially for someone who is already a bit introverted to begin with. It also left me with a life long hatred of physical fitness activities, especially if I have to do them in front of other people. Which, as I get older, is proving to be a complication I could do without.
That teacher forgot the education part of physical education. She was caught up with performance, instead of perseverance, to the detriment of those of us who could not do the former, and eventually gave up on the latter. It is unfortunate, because it didn't have to be that way.
Why am I remembering all this today? Because when I read that facebook post, I was reminded, in vivid detail, how it all came down to the teacher. I am happy for this little one that her teachers recognized her effort and encouraged her to stick with it, even if she wasn't the fastest, the tallest, the captain, or the star of the team. She, along with every child, deserves that.
The power of that teacher to encourage, to support, to uplift, is immeasurable, and extends far beyond the playing field. It doesn't just matter for one day. It can change their whole life.
As the kids are all heading back to school, I wish all their teachers would know that the most important thing you have to teach isn't in the curriculum, but in the heart. You don't know that child's back story. You have no idea what their life looks like outside the school walls. Even if you think you know, you probably don't know everything, and its what you don't know that causes the most pain and the greatest hardship. Give them grace. Encourage them, support them, look behind the wall. See their heart.
You are one of the most important influences those children will ever have. They are watching you, not just for classroom lessons, but for life lessons. They are observing how you treat others, how you manage conflict, how you handle your supervisors and your assistants, and they know whether you are patient or kind or spiteful or backbiting. You matter, and when you offer a child grace, you are giving them a priceless gift. One person can make all the difference.
Be that one.
