His name was Mr. Trout, and when he walked into our ninth-grade homeroom, a murmur of quiet laughter rippled across the class. Standing on tiptoes, he might have stood five feet five, but certainly no more. Nearly as round as he was tall, with a bald head, rosy-red cheeks, and a pointed beard, the comical character who beamed at us with his hands clasped across his ample tummy resembled the leprechauns often depicted on St. Patrick’s Day cards.
“Top o’ the mornin’, class!”
At his unusual greeting, delivered with a thick Irish brogue, our chuckles turned to spasms of scarcely concealed laughter, yet Mr. Trout never faltered. Within a few minutes, every student in the class knew education was serious business to this little man.
Interestingly, when I think back on that year, I hardly remember the amazing scholastic accomplishments Mr. Trout achieved with a bunch of small-town ninth graders. It’s hard to recall the long nights of study or his tests that pushed me to the limits of my academic ability. Somehow, my memories of Mr. Trout the teacher have become confused with my memories of Mr. Trout the man.
I remember the amazement during P.E. on that first day of school, when Mr. Trout stole the basketball from the star athlete in our class, dribbled the length of the basketball court, and scored in spectacular style, bringing the ball around his back like one of the Harlem Globetrotters™ before laying it in smoothly. I laugh about the day he challenged the seniors to “tug-of-war” against us “lowly freshmen.” Using carefully taught and applied physics, we put Mr. Trout’s devious plan into action. I will never forget the shock on the faces of those mighty seniors when they toppled into the mud pit.
In my eyes, this little man accomplished his greatest feat when he helped an overweight, bashful freshman with geeky glasses and a bad case of acne find a sense of accomplishment and self-worth. As you might guess, I was that forlorn freshman, and it is no exaggeration to say Mr. Trout changed my life. Without his intervention, who knows where I might be today?
Nearly four decades later, I still ask myself how I can impact young people who need encouragement. The silent ones who linger on the edges, longing to be loved, included, and valued? And then I think of Mr. Trout, and I think his answers might sound something like this...
1. Identify the real problem. Troubling behavior is usually a symptom of a much deeper problem. Anger, despair, or isolation often indicate the presence of inner turmoil. Take time to find the real person behind the mask. Take time! Mr. Trout made it a point to interact with me outside the classroom, often changing his schedule to accommodate mine. He taught me to make lay-ups after school (though I never mastered the behind-the-back move), batted grounders to me at the baseball field, and often asked me to help on projects where my help really was not needed. He took time to find the real person behind the goofy glasses and inferiority complex.
2. Emphasize the positive. S-P-E-L-L-I-N-G. Granted, few people would include the title of “state spelling bee champion” on a résumé, but for me, spelling became the first step toward self-confidence. When Mr. Trout discovered my “hidden” talent, he acted as though spelling a word with more than 12 letters was the greatest accomplishment in human history. His confidence and enthusiasm, more than my own, eventually propelled me to the state spelling championship. I still have the certificate I won in that competition.
Give your students chances to succeed — chances to see for themselves their lives hold value, and they can make important contributions to the work of God’s Kingdom! Help them identify their unique spiritual gifts and talents and give them manageable, achievable opportunities to succeed in those areas.
3. Demonstrate trust. Third base was a highly coveted position on our school team, usually played only by the most sure-handed, fireball throwing infielders. Imagine my surprise when Mr. Trout tossed me a glove on the first day of ball practice and said, “Eric, you cover third.”
No, I didn’t develop lightning-quick reflexes or entice professional scouts to come watch our team. I didn’t even become the starting third baseman, but I did become the back-up. And, more importantly, when our starting third baseman sprained his ankle during a big game, I heard once again, “Eric, you cover third!” Mr. Trout trusted me to succeed when the stakes were high.
Want to develop leaders who make the right decisions when the chips are down? Trust them to succeed. Give them chances to “make the play,” and whether they succeed or fail, provide plenty of encouragement and support. Trust them, and they will learn to trust you! And when they can trust another person, it will be much easier for them to make the step of trusting God.
4. Practice unconditional
love. I’ll never forget that dreadful moment. The school year was almost over and — for the first time — I had begun to come out of my bookworm shell. One afternoon, as lunch break neared its end, my new friends and I gathered around the water fountain outside our classroom door. Suddenly, one of the boys began to mimic Mr. Trout, imitating his quirky facial expressions, poking out his belly, and walking in the teacher’s funny, bowlegged way. I laughed along with the others, but to my ears, my laughter seemed hollow and strained.
Suddenly, the door to the classroom opened, and Mr. Trout stood there, taking in the whole scene. He quietly looked from boy to boy, but his gaze rested longest on me. After a tense moment which seemed to last for hours, he sighed, turned, and said quietly over his shoulder, “Time to start, guys.”
The afternoon dragged on. I slumped miserably at my desk, avoiding eye-contact with the little man who had become such a big part of my life. I knew what it was like to hurt, to be made fun of, to be…suddenly, the bell rang. With leaden feet, I walked slowly toward the door. Just as I passed him, Mr. Trout’s cheerful whisper brought me up short, “You got time for some hoops?” He never mentioned the incident at the water fountain. In that defining moment, he achieved hero status in my eyes!
You can be sure students will hurt you! It’s inevitable. Their emotions ride too close to the surface, the temptations that face them are simply overwhelming, and often they think the best way to relieve their own pain is to take it out on others, including you. In those moments, practice deliberate, unconditional love. Choose to look beyond the hurt to the desperate young people who need you. See them through the eyes of Christ. As they drive nails of criticism, rebellion, and failure through your hands and feet, ask God to forgive them and turn your attention to what is truly important: the condition of their souls.
My family soon moved from South Georgia, and I left Mr. Trout behind. But over the decades, I've realized I take a large part of him wherever I go. He saw potential where others missed it. He gave me opportunities to succeed where none had existed before. He trusted me, even when I failed him, and — somewhere along the way — he became a lonely freshman’s best friend.
About the Columnist: Eric K. Thomsen has been the managing editor of ONE Magazine since 2005. He is the worship leader at Bethel FWB Church near Ashland City, Tennessee, where he and his wife Jennifer also teach a college and young career Sunday School class.
