Sometimes we have the power to change people but we don’t even know it; at least that was the case with me. It was the summer between my sophomore and junior years in college and I had a job that people my age only dreamed of: I had been named the director of an exclusive swim club on Staten Island. I was all of 20 years old and in charge of the pool, the lifeguards, the refreshment stand and best of all, I got to work with children as coach of the swim team. Life was good; at least for the early part of the summer. <\/p>\n
The 25 yard-long pool I managed sat below an elegant clubhouse on a terraced hill on one of the highest points in the northeast. On a clear day you could look down from the glistening water to the hillside and out to the horizon where the sky and Atlantic Ocean met in a palate of blues; a spectacular sight. <\/p>\n
By the end of June the schools let out, and all the kids I’d gotten to know the summer before came back: a tight-knit group, playful but respectful, and great fun to be around. All that changed a couple of weeks into the summer with the arrival of Chris, a 10-year old who had just moved to Staten Island. At first he was like any other 10-year old; he always seemed to have a smile on his face and was willing to laugh and make friends. But physically he was different in one obvious way: nearly half of Chris’ face was covered with a dark port-wine stain.<\/p>\n
His first week he seemed to blend in pretty well and he went off my “radar”as someone I had to keep an eye on in case he ran into trouble. A week later I saw a couple of little spats between Chris and other kids but nothing out of the ordinary. Then, about two weeks after Chris’ arrival, the arguments seemed to get louder and more frequent. My lifeguards took notice and started to keep a sharp eye on the little “trouble maker.” He was given a number of “time outs”and I saw him more and more frequently sitting by himself, his face a mix of anger and sadness.<\/p>\n
The lifeguard shack was a sanctuary for the staff. Built into the side of the hill on which the pool sat, the shack was a cinderblock oasis, the rooms cooled by the cold water pipes that fed the pool, circulating through the filtration system we maintained there. It was the one place where the staff could talk freely and openly about our jobs and the club members, most of whom treated us very well and who we’d come to like and enjoy. The turning point came one day when I was sitting in the shack going over the schedule with a few of the guards. One of them started to complain about Chris, about this mean-spirited little kid who always seemed to be getting in fights, who was disrupting their otherwise perfect summer. And then another lifeguard joined in and then another. Clearly we had a problem on our hands.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I’d like to say I mulled over the problem for a few days before taking decisive action. But the truth is simpler than that. I was irritated. No. More than that, I was mad. This just wasn’t right, and I knew it. I stood up and said, “There’s only one thing to do. I’m going to make Chris my special assistant.” A couple of mouths dropped open and before anyone could say a word, I left, went up to the pool and found Chris who was siting by himself at the edge of the shallow end, his feet dangling in the water. I said, “Chris, I need your help.” The little boy’s face went from confusion to an understanding of what I’d just said and then the smile I hadn’t seen in weeks crossed his face. He quickly got to his feet and followed me as I strode to the lifeguard chair.<\/p>\n
Chuck, a rather stoic but amiable guy who would be leaving for his first semester of college that fall, was on duty, sitting in the tall lifeguard stand, overlooking the pool and twirling his whistle. I made no announcement but simply took the PH testing equipment and started to explain to Chris that one of the most important duties for myself and the lifeguards was to take hourly samples to be sure the pool’s water was acidic enough to keep the water clean but not so acidic that it hurt people’s eyes. Chuck looked down from the stand and calmly asked what was going on. In a louder-than-normal voice so that any kids around might hear, I said, “Chris is my new special assistant. He’s going to help you, all the lifeguards, and me. And we’re starting with testing the water. You tell Chris the readings you get each hour and he’ll write them down for you in the official logbook. Got it?”Chuck’s face slowly morphed to a grin; he got it.<\/p>\n
For the next couple of weeks, Chris followed me around like an eager puppy. In truth, I had very little he could do. But his demeanor had changed. He walked a little taller; with the purpose of someone who has work to do. All the other kids took notice. And a couple of them — in voices that betrayed their envy — asked if they could be special assistants. No, I told them, there’s only one special assistant and that’s Chris.<\/p>\n
Immediately the arguments stopped. After a week, I left him off his duties, as he didn’t need my acceptance to show anyone that he was good enough for them. His sweet smile and winning personality did the rest. By the end of that summer, Chris had become one of the most popular kids at the most exclusive swim club on Staten Island.<\/p>\n
When Chris had first arrived, nobody had mentioned the port-wine stain on his face; no one wanted to be rude or mean spirited. But there it was; he was all of 10 years old and people’s fear of not knowing how to acknowledge his difference made him an undeserving outcast. At 10 years of age, what had he done? Nothing. It was a self-prophesizing fear of an otherwise decent group of children and young adults. What had become apparent to me was that this fear was going to turn him into an angry and very unhappy person. And maybe not for just that summer, but perhaps for a long, long time. The children were better than that. My lifeguards were better than that. And so was I.<\/p>\n
That summer I learned some lessons I wasn’t even seeking. I learned about leadership and the power to change people. I had thought that leadership required a loud booming voice and a magic ability to get people to do what you tell them. What I found out is that the old axiom, actions speak louder than words, is true; that we can lead by example and change people’s minds in extraordinary ways. I didn’t have to scream, and I didn’t have to express my anger to make a change. In fact, I think those tactics would have failed miserably. In effect, all I did was say, I like this kid; the mark on his face doesn’t matter to me, I like him as a person. I took a stand. That’s all it was.<\/p>\n
The marketing genius Seth Godin wrote, “We don’t change markets, or populations, we change people, one person at a time, at a human level. And often, that change comes from small acts that move us, not from grand pronouncements.”<\/p>\n
Lesson learned.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I often coach people that we need to tell stories to make a point rather than creating an endless and forgettable list of Bullet Points. Storytelling is what we’re “wired” to remember. So that I might be someone who practices what he preaches, I joined an on-line group that teaches storytelling. The following essay is my response to their assignment: Write about a moment in your life when you learned an important lesson.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_kad_post_transparent":"","_kad_post_title":"","_kad_post_layout":"","_kad_post_sidebar_id":"","_kad_post_content_style":"","_kad_post_vertical_padding":"","_kad_post_feature":"","_kad_post_feature_position":"","_kad_post_header":false,"_kad_post_footer":false,"_kad_post_classname":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-339","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-observations"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/gothamgroupllc.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/339","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/gothamgroupllc.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/gothamgroupllc.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gothamgroupllc.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gothamgroupllc.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=339"}],"version-history":[{"count":7,"href":"https:\/\/gothamgroupllc.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/339\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":343,"href":"https:\/\/gothamgroupllc.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/339\/revisions\/343"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/gothamgroupllc.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=339"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gothamgroupllc.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=339"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gothamgroupllc.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=339"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}