It’s What You Do
When You Think No One Is Watching
As I stood in the double door
leading into the student section of the gym, I couldn’t hear myself say, “How’s
it going?” to Mr. Lingen who was leaning against the yellow pads beneath the
basket.
Every student was on their feet,
clapping along to the school song. With
the final chants of “Mighty, mighty, Prowlers, mighty!” echoing, coach Bittner
grabbed the mic from Mr. Biermaier addressed the student body about her
volleyball team which, in just a few hours, would be playing in the section
championship for the third straight year with a chance to return to state.
I leaned over and asked Mr. Lingen
how he was doing designing the Western Civ curriculum which would be offered
for college credit next semester.
He rolled his eyes and said that it
was a slow process but that he was looking forward to it.
Then coach Bittner began introducing
the varsity players. As each girl ran to
the center of the gym, I began counting the pairs of Crocs I saw. Luckily for them, there were none. Wow,
I thought. That’s impressive. At least they weren’t wearing baseball caps
like some of the other supposed student-athletes in our other programs.
My thought process was broken when
Shelby was introduced. She hopped up
from the front row of bleachers and bounded toward the row of volleyball
players. She then gave each girl a high
five as she ran down the line and took her place at the head. In Crocs.
Shelby had black Crocs on. Oh lord,
I thought, and fished my phone out of my pocket. I searched for Shelby’s last text. Then I typed the phrase
#weretryingtohaveasociety and hit send.
Shelby and Hannah said a few words
to the cheering crowd about how they hoped everyone comes to the game, how much
the fans meant to them, and how, hopefully, they would see them all down at state
next week.
And just like that, the band stood
in the upper deck and began pounding out the school song to end the pep fest.
The volleyball players fled the gym,
for the buses that would take them to the game in Moorehead were waiting to be
boarded.
I pressed my back against the
hallway to avoid the stampede. I waited
for the steady stream of players, students, parents, and faculty to subside.
Then I stepped back in the gym
looking for someone to harass. What I
noticed stopped me in my tracks.
Nate, one of our special needs
students, sat in his wheelchair not five feet from me at the edge of the
bleachers. As a diehard Prowler sports
fan, he was decked out in a Prowler jersey and had streaks of blue and gold across
each cheek.
Shelby knelt down beside him with a
huge grin on her face. She asked him how
he was doing and if he was going to the game.
Nate grinned broadly and shook his
head. Then he pointed at something on
his iPad.
I backed away but continued to
watch.
Shelby talked and smiled and nodded
her head. She was in no hurry. It’s
like she doesn’t even know she will be playing in one of the biggest games of
her volleyball career in just a few hours, I thought. In
fact, it looks like she could care less.
This kid is a born teacher. I
just hope she gets done with her degree in time to come back to Challenger so
she can teach Cash.
“Well, Nate,” she said, putting her
hand on his shoulder, “if you can’t make it tonight, listen to us on the
radio! I’ll see you on Monday!”
With that Shelby gave Nate a high
five, and she was gone.
Right then a thought popped into my
head, I hope Kenzie grows up to be just
like Shelby.
I
am a noticer.
You
may not notice, but odds are I will.
What does that mean?
Just this morning in my first block,
I have, supposedly, our top students in College Comp 2. These are the kids who, supposedly, have
never got a B and will do whatever it takes to keep their precious little 4.0s.
Yet I notice how when given time to
work - they’re completing an infograph instead of an essay on the first book
they read, Cal Newport’s So Good They
Can’t Ignore You, and they have a take home essay exam to complete by
Tuesday - I still see a few students constantly on their phones.
I notice this. And then I think, let me observe any class, and I bet I can accurately predict not only the students’ grades but what their
teachers’ comments will be on their report cards by how often they are on their
cell phones.
I’ve noticed this over the years. My least inspiring and successful students
are constantly on their phones. They
simply don’t develop the ability to tune out the distractions and devote
themselves to the real work that college demands.
This is but one reason 70% of
students will leave college without a degree.
At the same time, though, I notice
another student right now sitting at the table in front of me, her hand on her head
massaging her temples and she designs her own infograph. I see another staring intently at the
screen. She scribbles something on a
yellow Sticky-Note, peels it from the stack, and slaps it in her book.
They haven’t picked up their phones
once.
So what?
You see, dear reader, what I notice
when you don’t think anyone is watching is the most important ‘tell’ of the
type of person you are and how much you will succeed. Plus, this is that type of information I put
into the letters of recommendation you ask me for, especially the ones that you
will have to agree to only let the university or scholarship committee see. That means your eyes will never read what I
notice about you.
And for some that is a really good
thing.
Here is a real paragraph from a
letter of recommendation I was asked to write. Now, let me preface that with
this: I informed the student ahead of time that I would not be the wisest of
choice for a reference. However, the
student confessed that he had no other options.
So, this is what I wrote - *(&^ is like so many other high schoolers I
see. That is, he is unremarkable. He shows up to my class, usually on
time. He often turns in his work,
usually a day late. He does not actively
engage in any discussions or conversations.
In fact, the only thing he actively engages with is his phone. Now, I’m not strict on cell phones in my
class, so when I notice he has a problem with it, then he really, really has a
problem with it. So unless you are
looking for someone who will flunk or drop out after a semester, I would not
give this student a scholarship. Perhaps
I am wrong. Please see his other letters
of recommendation, though.
I put that final line in giving him
a second chance, but I also knew that he did not actually have any other
recommendations.
Before you think I am completely
nefarious, let me show you another paragraph from a letter of recommendation I
am currently writing for Shelby, who is now majoring in education at Concordia
- One thing I will always remember about
Shelby was her kindness. The fall of her senior year, I saw her do something
amazing. It touched my heart and really illustrates what kind of wonderful
young lady Shelby is. In late October, the school put on a pep fest for the
volleyball team as they were, hopefully, about to return to the state playoffs.
Shelby was announced and said a few words to the roaring crowd. Then when the
students were released to leave for the day, I saw Shelby take time out and
stop and talk to Nate, one of our special needs students who is confined to a
wheelchair who also happens to be a diehard Prowler sports fan. She knelt by
Nate as he sat by the exit. Everyone else was pouring out of the gym to get
home or to practice. Shelby, however, talked with Nate. She interacted with him
for at least 5 minutes before giving him a hug before leaving. I was
speechless. She didn’t have to do that. In fact, most of her teammates were so
caught up in the moment that they were oblivious to anything else. Again, not
Shelby. I believe this illustrates perfectly her kindness and empathy. In fact, I’d be proud if my daughter, Kenzie,
grew up to be just like her.
When did I start noticing the stuff
that many people do not even think twice about?
I’m not sure, but I do know the
moment when it became clear to me that it is vital to remember the little
things because they can have the most profound effect: parent/teacher
conferences the fall of 2010.
Two of my very favorite people in
the world were about to walk into my room: Steve and Jennifer Olson. I first met them when I had their oldest son,
Ben, as a freshman football player three years ago. They stopped by my room then to say hello and
talk about how much Ben was enjoying football.
It was then that I thought, wow. These parents show up for conferences even
when I don’t have their son in class!
Impressive.
But this year I actually had the
privilege of having Ben, now a junior, in my College Composition I course.
Jennifer said, “Hello, Mr.
Reynolds,” with a smile and shook my hand.
Steve gripped my hand next and shook
if vigorously at least half a dozen times before pulling me close and saying,
“Thanks for all you’ve done for Ben this year.”
“Well, you’re welcome. He’s a great kid.”
“. . . And Sam,” he said before
releasing my hand and taking a seat at the desk next to the one his wife was
already seated in.
“Yes, Sam,” I said, thinking about
their middle son, who I didn’t have in class, but who was on the ninth grade
football team I coached.
Unfortunately, Sam had gotten a
nasty concussion and wasn’t able to play beyond the first few weeks. He approached me to tell me that he was
thinking of quitting. I balked at such
talk and told him to stick around.
Afterall, we only had 13 kids out for football. We couldn’t afford to lose one, even if he
wasn’t able to play! I told Sam that he could be my assistant offensive
coordinator.
Sam agreed and stayed on to help me
and to work as a team manager as well.
“Well, I’m enjoying Ben in class immensely,
“ I said, pushing a copy of his grades over to Steve and Jennifer. “His writing is well developed and very
thoughtful. I just wish he spoke up more
in class.”
Steve laughed and said, “Well, Ben
isn’t the talkative one . . .”
“That would be Sam,” Jennifer
finished her husband’s sentence for him.
“Ah, Sam,” I chuckled. “My assistant offensive coordinator.”
It was odd, I thought that we ended
up talking more about Sam at Ben’s conference than we did about Ben.
It was then that Steve and Jennifer leaned
in close to me and said, “We just want to thank you for what you did for Sam
last week.”
I was shocked. I stared at them both. I even frowned.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” I
said. The truth was I had no clue what
they were talking about.
“Sam came home on Monday,” Jennifer
began, “and told us how you actually threw him a touchdown pass at the end of
practice.” The smile again spread across
her face. I saw her eyes tear up just a
little.
“Oh, yeah . . .” I chuckled, finally
recalling the incident, which I had completely forgotten about.
When a team is comprised of 11
players on offense and 11 players on defense, it’s difficult when you only have
13 players. Total.
So to improvise, we had half of our
offense practice against half of our defense.
We had so few kids out, that I actually had to step in and play
quarterback on offense so our starting quarterback, Nick Hoffard, could get
some reps at safety.
I looked around the huddle at my
three offensive lineman, one tight end, and my two running backs. “Okay, let’s block this one well,” I
said. “Two, twenty six toss. On one.” I said. Since these were freshman, though, I had to
add instructions. “Connor make sure you
get a good down block on the defensive end.
Grady I’ll pitch you the ball.
Steve make sure you seal the first linebacker you see on the edge. Grady will follow you and read off your
block.”
“Come on guys,” Sam said from just a
few feet away from the huddle. “Don’t
let the defense push you around. You can
do this.”
My “offense” all shook their
heads. Then we broke the huddle.
Once the center hiked the ball, I
turned and pitched the ball to Grady. He
actually gained three yards before the linebacker shed Steve, the fullback, and
drove Grady to the ground.
“Okay, huddle up!” I called. “Let’s get some reps and get out of here.”
The defense with coach Loe
celebrated like they had just stopped us on fourth and goal in the Super Bowl.
“Okay,” coach Loe called out. “Here’s the deal. If the offense can score a touchdown,
practice is done right now.”
Well, that’s wise, I thought. The
defense is going to let the offense score, coach. Genius.
“But . . .” Coach Loe yelled.
Ha ha, I thought. There
is always a catch. Now that is genius.
“If the offense scores, they get out
of conditioning. And the defense has to
do double conditioning.”
Instant groans and frighten looks
erupted from both sides. I don’t know if this offense can score,
Coach, I thought but kept it to myself.
Even if you let them try and score
. . .
“And if the defense stops you, they
get out of conditioning. And the offense
has to do double conditioning.”
Well, that’s not fair, I thought. Again,
how are we going to score a touchdown? I
swear if the six guys on defense fell down, we’d still drop the ball and fail
to score.
Instead, I said, “You’re on. Get ready to run double conditioning. Nancies!” I called and waved my offense over
to me.
“So what are you going to run?” Sam
asked as he poked his head into the huddle.
“Wait,” I said, turning to Sam who
was holding the orange basket full of water bottles. “Wait, wait, wait . . . Sam, first give
everyone here a shot of water.”
Sam began handing out the water
bottles.
“We’re going to need this,” Connor
said, spraying the water down his throat.
“Because we are going to be doing double conditioning after this play!”
“Ha ha. Not so fast, you Nancy,” I said. I had an idea. “Okay, Sam, here’s the deal. I want you to play wide receiver on this
play.”
“But I can’t have any contact,” he
said, putting all the water bottles back into the proper slots in the basket.
“I know. I know.
No one is going to hit you.”
Like the rest of the offense, he
just stared at me.
“Here is what you do. When we break the huddle, leisurely walk over
there and stand by the sideline. They
will never suspect that you’re actually lined up as a receiver. No one is going to even cover you.”
Heads began to nod as they caught on
to my plan.
“Reynolds, must be thinking up some
trick play,” Coach Loe called out.
“Hurry up, we’re ready for you.”
“Okay, here it is. I’ll fake a dive to Steve. Connor run a shallow drag to draw the
linebackers and safety. Grady you run a
swing route into the flat. And Sam . .
.” I looked at him.
Sam stared me right in the eyes with
the biggest grin I had ever seen on a kid.
“Sam, you drop the water bottles as
soon as the ball is snapped and run a post.
I’ll hit you for the touchdown.”
“Ready! Break!” we yelled, turned
around, and sprinted to the line of scrimmage.
“Down,” I called. “Set,” I yelled. “Go!”
I dropped back and first looked to
Connor who was covered by both an inside
linebacker and safety. Then I
looked to Grady in the flat who was covered by an outside linebacker. Then I dropped back one more step, found Sam
streaking over the deep middle and sailed a pass right to him.
Sam hauled it in and high stepped
his way into the endzone for a touchdown.
“That’s not fair!” yelled Nick from
his safety position.
“Hey, you should have covered the
deep middle,” I said.
“Okay, okay, okay,” coach Loe hollered
raising his hand. “The touchdown will
count, but since it was a trick play, all conditioning is off today.”
Again, you’d have thought we just
won the Super Bowl.
“Get a break down,” I yelled,
running toward the end zone. “On Sam!”
Soon Sam was surrounded by his
teammates who were all shouting and giving him high fives. Sam had never broken the team down at the end
of practice before. Since he scored the
winning touchdown, I thought it only fair.
“What’s our motto?” Sam shouted.
“Lead, follow, or get the heck out
of the way,” his teammates yelled.
Then they lifted Sam and carried him
off the practice field.
All of that came back to me in a
second as I sat before Sam’s parents.
“Sammie couldn’t stop talking about
that when he got home,” Steve said. The
pride was evident in every word. “It’s
been hard for him not being able to play.
He was really down in the dumps.
He didn’t know what he was going to do until you asked him to be your co
offensive coordinator.”
“And wide receiver when necessary,”
I added.
Steven laughed and Jennifer said,
“We just want to that you.”
“Yeah,” Steven added. “That one play made Sam’s entire year.”
And I had forgotten all about it
until you reminded me of it just now,
I thought.
Now, I try to notice every little
thing I can. It truly is the things you
do when you think no one is watching that matter most.
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