“Be A Good Person”

What I really teach

When people ask me what I do, I tell them that I teach physical education.

That’s a lie. What I really do is teach kids.

Somehow life put me in this amazing position where I get to work with young people and help them develop and reach their goals. Do I want them to go on to live healthy, active lifestyles? Absolutely. However, what I really want is from them to grow up to be good people.That’s my ultimate goal. That’s the reason I do what I do.

I have a story from last year that I think about all of the time. It took place at the Elementary Track and Field Day at my school board (I teach K-6).

Track and Field is the last our monthly interscholastic tournaments during the school year, and I only take my graduating grade 6 students to it (I see it as a way to celebrate their time in elementary). Before I get to what happened that day, let’s go back a few weeks.

When students sign up for the Track and Field meet, I am allowed to register only two students for each track and each field event. The two girls I had try out for high jump were Christine and Megan (made up names, but you get the point).

Christine was a very good athlete and a great student. She had tried out and made almost every sports team at the school ever since fourth grade. Christine was also a good leader and a very positive person to be around.

Megan was also a very positive person. She might not have been the best athlete in school, but she always worked hard in class and still wanted to be on as many sports teams as possible. I think she was mature enough to understand that this was her last year in elementary and she wanted to make the very best of it.

During our Track and Field practices, I taught the girls the proper technique for high jump. They worked at it every day and were doing quite well.

About a week before the tournament, Megan started developing a mental block: every time she made her approach to the bar, she would stop just before jumping and have to restart.

At first, Megan just seemed to laugh this off. However, as the tournament got closer, she seemed to be getting more and more nervous about her jump. I tried my best to help her by modifying the equipment, breaking the jump down into manageable steps, and encouraging her as much as possible. Nothing seemed to work. The block was there and now Megan was getting really nervous about the tournament.

Christine on the other hand was doing just fine. Her technique was great and she was looking like she might be a serious contender for the gold medal.

The day of the tournament finally arrived and we had to make our way to the event’s venue. Before leaving the school, I told my students of the same thing I tell them before any tournament:

“I don’t care if you win gold or finish last. I’m already proud of you just for having shown up. We are going there today to challenge ourselves, to represent our school well, and to have a ton of fun. Let’s go have a great day.”

Girl’s high jump was one of the first events that day. I headed over to the high jump area with Megan and Christine. Both girls seemed a little nervous, but were laughing and having fun.

The officials explained to all of the girls how the event would proceed: each athlete would get two attempts at a height. As long as you did not jump, you could restart your approach. If after two attempts an athlete did not successfully clear the bar, they would be eliminated. After every round, the bar would be moved up.

The officials set the bar to the first height (90cm) and then named the first athlete:

Megan.

I reminded Megan what I had told the whole group: that I was so proud of her and that I just wanted her to have fun. She gave me a nervous smile and then got ready to make her approach.

She did everything right. Her steps were perfectly calculated and her approach could not have been any better. But she stopped just before jumping and never took off. She then turned around and started crying.

I was heartbroken.

I let her know that everything was fine, that she wasn’t eliminated and that she could just try again later, but she didn’t want to. I felt so bad and I told her that if that was what she wanted, then I was perfectly fine with that.

Christine was in the middle of consoling Megan when the officials called her name. She got up, made her way to where she was to begin her approach, and gave one last look over to Megan.

Like I mentioned before, Christine had shown a lot of talent during practice and I really thought she was a contender at this event. I figured that this opening round would be easy for her.

However, as Christine took off, she immediately crashed into the bar.

Hard.

She wasn’t even close.

Christine got up and started making her way back to the starting point to make her second attempt. My mind was racing trying to figure out what had just happened. But just before Christine started her second approach, she ran over to Megan, smiled, and said something I will never forget:

“See Megan, nobody cares if you crash into the bar.”

Christine then went on to make her second attempt, clearing the bar by at least 60cm. She had crashed into it the first time on purpose to help make her friend feel better.

I actually had to walk away for a second to hide the tears in my eyes.

What an amazing thing to do for a friend.

Megan didn’t jump again that day, but she left the tournament smiling and happy to have been there. Christine didn’t win gold, but she left there a champion anyway.

At the beginning of each school year, I tell my students that my job is indeed to teach them the skills they need to go on to live healthy, active lifestyles but that my real job is to teach them to be good people.

I challenge them to go out of their way to be kind to others, I encourage them to talk things out and try to see things from the other person’s perspective, and I remind them that they are all capable of great things.

I absolutely love working with the amazing young people I get to teach. When I see things like what took place at the tournament that day, I know that this is work worth doing.