Since I never played sports, you would think I was not too familiar with pep talks. Sure, you hear them other places, but nowhere as often – and as passionate – as in a locker room, after a game. I may not have PLAYED sports, but I spent many years WRITING about them. So even though I never played the game, I guess I learned a thing or two along the way. Though I left that world long ago, I not only know a good pep talk when I hear one, apparently I am not so bad at giving them.
I’m a software trainer and have been for about six years. Prior to that, I was a Reading Tutor, a Substitute Teacher, a Bible Study Teacher, a Sunday School Teacher and I homeschooled my three children for many years. So I guess you could say I’ve been in pep talk training for most of my adult life for there is no one in greater need of a pep talk than someone who is trying to learn.
I’m currently teaching hospital staff new software that their facilities will be switching to soon. Some of my students, mostly the younger ones, take to it like fish to water. But the older ones? A certain saying about old dogs and new tricks comes to mind. Not only is there a fear of change, there is a fear that somehow they will no longer be able to perform their jobs in the manner they have become accustomed to.
Today I was teaching the last class in a series of four; we affectionately call it Workbook Day. It’s that glorious day when the students take what they have learned in the three previous classes and put it to practice, so to speak. Kind of like those long, hard months in February and March when baseball players kill themselves in Spring Training to try to earn a spot on the coveted regular season roster. I assured my students that it would be a fun day with no stress, followed by what we call A Celebration of Knowledge, aka, a Test.
As was to be expected, the youngsters in the group caught on quickly which is usually the case. There were also some middle-agers like myself who did amazingly well too. But there are almost always a few who struggle and that’s ok. I have found that often the ones who struggle the most become the best. Why? I think it is because they care so much. And that is a skill you cannot teach; it’s either there or it isn’t.
As class approached the noon hour today, most students eagerly ran out the door, knowing a quick game of Jeopardy, then the Celebration of Knowledge, awaited when they returned. But one student remained behind, her hand in the air (as it had been many times on this day), frustration on her face, her eyes locked on mine. I gingerly walked over to her, and as I did, she pointed to her screen, her voice breaking, asking for my help. I looked at her and knew, all too well, what she was thinking. I’d been there, too many times to count.
I was the one in PE Class that struck out every time while everyone else hit the ball. The one that became crippled with fear anytime she had to stand up and talk in front of others while everyone else seemed to relish the opportunity. The one that longed to be by herself during lunch hours while her co-workers couldn’t get enough of being together. More times than not, I was that person: the outcast, the one who didn’t quite measure up.
I said to Becky, “Do you want to go get food?” She said yes, but she wanted to figure out what she was doing wrong with this particular exercise, why she had so many errors on her screen. I told her she was getting emotional and needed to go to lunch and remove herself, as far as she could, from this situation. With tears in her eyes and a cracking voice, she complied.
She was all I thought of during lunch. I walked outside of the classroom several times, awaiting her return, much like an anxious mom awaits news that her 16 year old daughter has made it to her destination after driving solo for the very first time. The last time I looked around the corner, there she was, with somewhat of a forced smile, but a smile all the same.
I reached way up to put my arm around her and barely could as she is really tall. Then came a smile that was not forced – and I was grateful for that smallest of small miracles. I told her, as I had many times over the past few days, that she WOULD get it; it just takes practice. I had told her that just hours before, actually. She said she just wanted to understand why, in that particular instance, she had so many errors, she wanted to know how to fix them. I asked her if dealing with that type of issue is something she does in her current job. She answered no. I asked, then why worry about it? And she said because the book says we need to know how to do it.
Then she teared up and said what was really bothering her. “Everyone else around me is getting it, but I’m not. It makes me feel dumb.” Aha. There it was. IT was the evil voice of comparison, raising its ugly head once again. It was time for another Voice to become louder.
First, I said, you have to stop crying or I will start (she stopped, but I started). Then I told her she must stop comparing herself to others because there would always be those who were greater which would make her feel bad. And there would always be those below her which would make it hard to remain humble. She nodded in agreement. But I was just getting started.
I told her she was created a unique person and that she was given certain gifts that others were not. She smiled and then said she now understood why I asked the class on the first day to state something unique about themselves. I had a class of 16 students so I didn’t remember what everyone said, but I remembered her: she stated that she was raising a grandchild on her own, just as she had been a single mom to three children. I remember telling her that, sadly, that isn’t so unique these days. But I remember admiring her for taking the job on.
As I continued my pep talk, I told her I would never, ever be able to do what she had done, that my grandkids, if I ever have them, will be raised by their parents, not me. She said, “If it’s either you raising them or they go to foster care…” I got her point and said, “I guess I should never say never.” And we both smiled.
On our way back to class I told her I had hoped I had not offended her by basically forcing her to walk away and go to lunch. She smiled and said it was exactly what she needed. Then she thanked me.
Back in class, her countenance changed. We played our game of Jeopardy and her hand went up almost every time, answering questions others could not. Her face beamed with pride and I saw a confidence I hadn’t seen before.
When class had ended, she came over and hugged me. She thanked me. She told me that walking away from that computer had been exactly what she needed. And then she thanked me again. I had gotten it right. And it felt good.
A little while later I walked down the hall to the restroom and our Executive Assistant, the wonder girl who keeps all of our professional lives in orbit, said, “That was a great pep talk that you gave.” I looked at her, quizzically, and said, “I didn’t know you heard.” She said that she had and that I did a good job. I thanked her for noticing, that it was very sweet of her.
WOW. I had two people, just minutes apart, telling me I had gotten it right. You see, as I said earlier, I have had years of practice in delivering pep talks, but when it came to listening and believing them when others gave them to me? That was a whole different ball game.
As it often the case, when we do for others, we are the ones who get the blessing. I needed to HEAR the truth I spoke to my student just as much as she needed it, if not more. I needed a reminder, once again, that there will always be those greater, always be those lesser.
And I call myself the teacher.