The Blue Ribbon
Bettie B. Youngs, Ph.D., Ed.D.
Autumn days are always perfect, and this one was no different. The lazy sun still warmed the skin; the breeze swirling at will through manes of hair was not yet an angry one. Clumps of bigger than life-size leaves—yellow, gold and sienna brown—chased by the unpredictable tantrums of gusty fall winds, tumbled aimlessly down the narrow streets of this seemingly sleepy little village. It was a day that suited this Eastern town where old and majestic trees, now splendidly painted in the vivid colours of fall, shielded from immediate view neatly kept houses with manicured lawns. It all seemed so picture perfect.
“We have wonderful kids and wonderful teachers, and wonderful parent, too,” he said. “I know you’ll enjoy your time with us.” The fatherly superintendent of schools chatted amiably (and nonstop) all the way from the airport to the school where I would conduct a workshop for high school seniors. Was it possible this little pocket of paradise had managed to preserve a sense of innocence for the town, its families and its children? Had this kind and benevolent school leader managed to protect these children from the perils of a global economy, shifting mores and changing family values—and from themselves?
The first thing I noticed as we drove onto the school grounds was the billboard. Just yesterday it had announced the school’s next football rival. Now it read, “Welcome, Dr. Youngs.”
“Nice touch,” I said sincerely. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” said the superintendent. “Thank Robby Ballen, the student council president.”
“Please introduce me if you can,” I said.
“Oh, Robby will be around all right. He’s everywhere. Quite a leader, that boy. He’s been elected student council president three years in a row. That’s pretty unusual. In all the years I’ve been involved in school leadership, I’ve seen it happen only a couple times. It’s pretty strong vote of confidence from your peers.”
“I’ll say,” I agreed.
We approached the school building, and the superintendent rushed a few steps ahead to open the door for me. The instant I stepped inside a band began playing! I looked up and there, dressed in their school’s band uniforms, was a small group of students assembled on my behalf. Delighted, I paused to play centre stage to their tribute.
“Wow!” I exclaimed to the smiling and blushing students. “I’m impressed! Thank you for the wonderful welcome.” It was then that I noticed the banner above their heads. In addition to a very interesting caricature of me, every student in the school had personally written a short quip to welcome me and signed their name, age and date.
I turned to the superintendent who simply smiled and shrugged his shoulders. We walked to the auditorium where I would conduct the program for the seniors. We continued down the hall, turned left, went down the next hall, turned right, walked down the next corridor past the cafeteria, then entered the next to the last door on the right. The banner followed the entire way!
“That’s a lot of work!” I exclaimed. A lot of paper too, I thought. “Don’t tell me,” I said. “This was inspired by Rob, right?”
“Actually, it was,” the superintendent replied. “All the students participated in carrying it out obviously, but it was Rob’s idea, and it was accomplished through his leadership.”
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I was testing the microphone and setting up when a voice nearby asked, “Do you need anything? Is there anything I can do to help?”
I fully expected to see a custodian, vice-principal, counselor or any other adult who might have been assigned to oversee my needs for the program. Instead, there stood a young, handsome, muscular and well-dressed young man. “Hi!” he said, “I’m Rob Ballen.”
“Nice to meet you, Rob,” I said. “I’ve heard many good things about you. I’m Bettie Youngs, and yes, there is a way for you to help. A god friend of mine, Helice Bridges, has developed a little exercise that’s sort of like an award ceremony. A blue ribbon with the words Who You Are Makes A Difference is used to acknowledge a person for something they’ve said or done that has made a difference to you. In my workshop with your class today I’ll be calling on a number of students, but I need a volunteer to start it off. Would you mind if I called on you to come forward first?”
“Oh, that’d be fun!” he said without hesitating or asking anything more about exactly what it was he would be expected to do.
“Good,” I said. “I’ll count on you then!”
The seniors filed into the auditorium in various states of anticipation and expectation. “Sometimes we don’t express what’s really in our hearts,” I began, “This is particularly true when it comes to telling others, ‘Thanks for being there for me, for making a difference in my life.’ It’s important that we do this. First, it lets a person know that what he did was significant to you. Second, it gives the person the courage and motivation to do it again, to you and to others along the way. We needn’t wait for some major event to happen. We can acknowledge others for their acts of kindness, for acting out of integrity—especially when it’s not always popular to do so—and when someone accomplished a worthwhile goal. I’d like to show you a simple exercise that can help you acknowledge someone for making a difference to you in some way. I’d like to ask you to pay close attention to your feelings as we go through this process. I need a volunteer from the audience. Who would like to…” Rob’s arm shot in the air. “…volunteer? Okay, Rob, would you come up, please?” His classmates hooted and cheered and whistled good-naturedly. It was easy to tell that he was well-liked.
Rob came up and stood beside me. The top of my head just barely reached his shoulders. His presence with me and in front of them caused his classmates to giggle nervously and fidget with their belongings. After all, here was their handsome classmate standing beside a visitor who held in her hand a microphone, and who had the ability to call on them in front of their peers. It was their school, however, and they held the power to pay attention in a noisy manner or pay attention in a respectful manner. Power danced between them and me in perfect balance.
“Rob,” I said, “I would like you to know that the wonderful welcome that your classmates gave me when I arrived at school today made me feel warmed, honoured and welcomed. Since you were the one responsible for organizing it, I would like to thank you for being so thoughtful.” My words were met with claps, whistles and cheers. Even so, I knew they were happy it was Robby up there and not them. Now only quiet chatter could be heard among a few friends. “As you can see, I’m holding a blue ribbon with the words, Who You Are Makes A Difference. Your leadership actions made a difference to me. Thank you. Because you have acknowledged me, in a sense you have asked that i acknowledge you. Best of all, your actions caused me to want to connect with you and your classmates in a meaningful way. May I pin this ribbon on your shirt?” Little gasps, nervous giggles—and a few good-natured and mild-mannered catcalls—arose from the audience of adolescents.
Rob looked first to me and then glanced over the faces in the audience. “Yeah, sure,” he acquiesced. Smiling from ear to ear, he leaned down so I could reach the pocket of his shirt and pin the ribbon on it. All eyes were now upon Robby, all motions stilled by their nervousness. This was far too close for comfort in the minds of these young people still learning the social rules of human touch. Classmates poked each other to distract themselves from getting too close to the experience, no doubt relieved this was happening to Rob and not to them.
I continued the ceremony. “When you take this shirt off, Robby,” I said amplifying my voice a bit because of the hoots and howls these “risqué” words brought, “I would like you to remove the ribbon and place it on the mirror in your bathroom so that as you get ready for school each morning, you will be reminded that your thoughtfulness was genuinely appreciated. Your caring actions were important to me.”
I backed up a few steps. Now acting from the emotional energy of a speaker, rather than from the personal one-on-one I had just used, I looked at Robby and asked, “How does it feel to be acknowledged in this way?”
“Oh,” he said sincerely. “It feels good. I’m not sure if anyone had told me ‘thank you,’ for anything” He became solemn and reflective. Shaking his head, he quietly repeated, “I don’t think anyone has ever told me ‘thank you.’” It didn’t seem appropriate for me to examine that further, although I’m sure the audience “got it.” Here was a young man who had on occasion done many considerate things for others. Yet, Robby hadn’t been told--or he didn’t hear—their thanks.
“Rob,” I continued, “now that we can all see how this exercise works, I’d like for you to call someone up from the audience and acknowledge that person for making a difference to you.”
“Oh,” said Rob, macho posturing to impress, “that’ll be easy. Chad, get your booty up here.” Chad, his best friend, bounded up. Once again the classmates cheered and clapped. The two guys playfully punched each other another time or two, then stood at attention in front of me. Standing next to Rob to oversee and assist him with the ceremony, I nodded for him to begin.
“Hey, bud!” Rob began in a voice filled with spunk and spirit, “I’ve got a blue ribbon here, as you can see, with the words Who You Are Makes A Difference.” He turned tome a mouthed the words, “Now what do I say?”
“I would like to tell you how you made a difference to me.” I instructed.
“Yeah, I’d like to tell you how important you are to me,” he mimicked and then added, “And why.”
I observed, but said nothing.
“Why you’re important to me,’ he began, looking first at Chad, then the floor, then at the ceiling, then at me, “is because…” He stopped, cleared his throat, and tried again. “Why you’re important to be is because,” and once again he looked first at Chad, then the floor, then at the ceiling, then towards the back of the room and back again at me, “is because…” He stopped, cleared his throat, and this time Mr. Football used the hand of his “golden arm” to clear away the cloud of tears blurring his vision. The audience watched in disbelief, and perhaps in fear. Oh no. Was it possible that their hero, the pillar, was going to cry?
“Oh Chad, ol’ bud,” Rob began again, “I’ve never told you, I never really wanted you to know…but you…you…saved my life. I don’t know if you ever knew it, and if you did, you didn’t let on. Remember the time last year when I came to your house at 11.30 at night and you know I had been drinking? You took my car keys from me and though we argued over it, you refused to give them to me. You knew that I couldn’t drive and you called my mother, told her that I had fallen asleep and asked if I could spend the night at your house. I never told you, but my parents had gotten in a huge fight that night and my dad said he was leaving. He had filed for divorce. I was so mad and hurt, and I thought, What will my friends at school think? How can I tell them that my parents are divorcing when my mother is the PTA president and my dad always helps drive us to the football games? Now he’s leaving my mother and moving away. My class isn’t going to want me to be class president anymore, and…” Rob covered his face with one hand, then letting out a big sigh, continued, “I was going to drive off of old Highway 164 that night. You saved my life.” Chad reached over and pulled him into his arms. The two boys hugged each other for what seemed like a very long time.
The audience sat stunned, aghast that their hero had once entertained such thoughts—or was even capable of them.
Now just another teenager, Robby, with shoulders slumped, took a seat.
Chad, still dealing with all this, stood motionless beside me.
“Chad,” I said softly. “Here’s a blue ribbon for you. I’d like you to acknowledge someone who has made a difference in your life.”
It was a fairly sedate Chad that called upon Mr. Hudson.
“I’d like to call up the shop teacher,” he said. A bewildered-looking teacher in the second row of the bleachers got up and came forward, taking his place beside Chad.
“Ah, you know that I gave you a hard time all last semester in shop class.” Chad stammered. All the students in the audience were all but holding their breath. Though I didn’t know the situation at the time, they knew just who the shop teacher was. “I guess I better begin by saying, I’m sorry,” Chad said. It’s just that…” he stopped, as though choosing his words carefully.
It caught me by surprise, too, when Chad continued with the words, “Dad, it just seemed to me that you’d touch the other guys on the arms or shoulders, or help them with their projects, but you didn’t do that for me. It made me so jealous. You stopped touching me when I was in the seventh grade. I thought, Why do these kids deserve his touch and I don’t? Anyway, I gave you a rough time and I’m sorry. I admire you because you are such a good teacher and all the kids like you and think you’re great. I do, too, Dad. I want to give you this blue ribbon because I think you’re the best teacher ever. And you’re a great dad, too. And I love you. Can I pin this on you?”
It was a meek and tearful father who received the blue ribbon.
“It’s your turn, Mr Hudson,” I said.
“I’ll call Suzee Merril,” said the best teacher at the school.
“Suzee,” he said, “as you can see, I’m holding a blue ribbon with the words Who You Are Makes A Difference. I would like to tell you how you made a difference to me. You were the first girl to take up shop class, and that was a courageous thing to do. I’d like to…”
Suzee called up Bob, her brother. And her brother called up Tammy.
“Tammy,” Bob said, “as you can see, I’m holding a blue ribbon with the words Who You Are Makes A Difference. I would like to tell you how you made a difference to me. I’m no Einstein, but here I am, finally a senior, and it’s because of you. For the last three years, I got up and came to school only because I knew you’d be here. Though we’ve broken up and aren’t dating anymore,” he paused to look to Rebecca, his new girlfriend, sitting nearby with his class ring around her neck and his cloak draped around his shoulders, “I know that I’d dropped out of school, maybe worse, if it hadn’t been for you…” Though he noticed, he seemed unfazed by his new girlfriend’s scowl and look of absolute dejection. He looked again at Tammy and repeated, “If it hadn’t been for you.”
Tammy stood next to him, her arms tightly hugging her chest. This was difficult enough, loving him still; yet watching as he now dated another classmate was even more painful. Tammy didn’t want anyone else. She had hoped to marry her bob. She was so hurt that she couldn’t lift her eyes to his, not even after his kind words. When he said, “You were the most important thing that ever happened to me,” her arms unwrapped and followed her hands to her face, where the heavy black mascara and eyeliner she wore was now streaming down. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed uncontrollably. The only boy she had ever loved had confessed her importance—humbly and genuinely. It left her visibly shaken emotionally, but more, her entire body was literally shaking. He pinned the blur ribbon on her collar, looked at her tenderly and said through his own tear-filled eyes, “Thank you for being there for me. I will always love you.”
Seventy-one students, hearts now standing at attention, sat bewildered. They were overwhelmed. They knew their own lives were complex, but was it possible that their peers could live in the same sort of inner disarray? And how was it possible that a young person, each and every one of them, could be so special and so meaningful to others?
It was a good place to stop the blue ribbon ceremony and begin my teaching, though much of what they needed to learn had already been accomplished.
As the superintendent drove me to the airport that next day, he said, “I don’t know where to begin. Quite honestly, yesterday afternoon opened my eyes. These kids are dealing with a lot more than they let on. I had no idea that under their ‘all-is-well’ facades, even the brightest students harbour such intense feelings and face such difficult challenges. There’s no way I can change the nature of their lives. It dawned on me that I’m not making the difference I thought I was. In fact, I no longer believe that I can make a difference.”
“Sure you can,” I said.
“How do you mean?” he asked, looking a bit forlorn.
“A man jogging on the beach on day came across a young boy picking up starfish, frantically slinging them into the ocean,” I began, relaying the story, told time and time again. “‘I’m afraid your efforts are in vain, young man!’ the jogger said as he approached the boy. ‘Hundreds of starfish have been washed ashore here, and they’re withering fast under the hot sun. Your well-intentioned efforts simply aren’t going to make a difference. You might as well run along and play.’ The boy surveyed the many starfish stranded on the beach, then looked at the beautiful starfish he was holding. Flinging it into the ocean, he replied optimistically, ‘I made a difference to that one!’”
“Unlike the man on the beach who knows all the starfish aren’t going to get rescued.” countered the superintendent, “and therefore doesn’t think it’s worth the effort, I want to rescue them all. I want my students, all of them, to be healthy, successful and, most of all, happy.”
“Oh, Mr. Thomasson,” I said. “It’s not up to you to rescue. Your job is to teach and prepare these kids to rescue themselves. Just as the boy’s singular actions made a difference to each one he touched, each student you touch and better prepare for life’s challenges brings you one step closer to achieving your own goal of truly helping them all.”
“But just how do I prepare them?” he asked sincerely.
“You begin by teaching through your own example,” I said to this loving caretaker, thinking how lucky this town was to have him as a father-leader to its children. “Don’t thin the way you maintain the safety of the school—its emotional climate, the attitudes and dedication of your wonderful parents and teachers—goes unnoticed. You are provided a model, a blueprint of a successful community and the elements required to make that community work for every students that attends. The focus on principle-centered values demonstrated daily through your actions and the actions of your staff are often the critical determinants as to whether or not these children will ‘wither’ or ‘swim to safety.’ I know that you make a difference in their lives daily.”
He looked at me in a melancholy way and smiled. “I appreciate what you’re saying. Seventy-one hearts were opened yesterday, including mine. Now I see my students and my job in a whole new light.” More to himself than to me, he added, “It’s time to look a little deeper to see past the surface appearance of these children and offer the additional support and leadership that truly will prepare them for the future in careers and in their personal lives.”
“It’s gratifying to come across leaders such as you who offer hope to all of us with your unwavering commitment to our youth” I told him. “I wish there were more leaders of youth with this type of working devotion, It’s people like you who cause me to believe in people and who make what I do worthwhile to me.”
We arrived at the airport. In parting, I reached out me hand to shake his hand. It was two large fatherly arms that returned my farewell.
This is why I do what I do for a living, I though. In uncovering the Mr. Thomassons of the world, my heart renews itself. How relevant the line from Richard Dreyfuss in the movie Mr. Holland’s Opus, “Of all the changes I have helped bring about in others, the greatest change is what has happened within me.
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