Don’t ever underestimate the power of what you say and do — someone is listening and watching

Over the course of my adult life, if I’d placed a marble in a gallon jug for every time I said or did something stupid or hurtful, I’d have filled four or five jugs by now.

And if I had done the same for every time I said or did something special, I’d probably still be on my first jug. Maybe that’s why this next story is memorable, because it’s one of a few rather than many.

I received my master’s degree in social work from the University of Texas at Austin. I applied on a lark and was surprised to make it in. Their recruiting materials promoted a preference for talent and ethnic and gender diversity, and I was just an average straight White guy from Central Texas ranch country. A friend of mine said,

“Well, Dan, I think you put your finger on it. You’re an average straight White guy from the Heart of Texas. You also have some cow shit on your boots. I doubt very seriously there are any other applicants like you in the school of social work. In that regard, you are a minority!”

I’ll never forget responding to a question asked by a professor in one of my research classes. I don’t remember the question, but I remember the awkwardness of his response. He stood silent for a moment, then said,

“Shouldn’t you be duck hunting or something?”

Everyone in the class laughed, as did I, but I always thought it ironic, in a school so bent on being non-judgmental and open, that professors were just as prone to stereotyping and profiling as anyone else.

Twelve years later, I was in the lead of the largest private residential programs for children in the state of Texas. Indeed, I was proud of that accomplishment, but that’s not the basis for “Bragging Writes” in this story.

That came when I began moonlighting as an adjunct professor at West Texas A&M University in Canyon, Texas. I was offered the opportunity to teach Introduction to Social Work to freshmen who were “undecided” in their majors. I had trained a lot of interested people in my career, but I’d never taught a captive audience.

My first discussion with the dean was about how to teach to the textbook and standardized course objectives. She emphasized testing and grading and how to give multiple choice and true and false tests.

Frankly, she was setting me up to teach as boring a class as the students anticipated.

As I gained traction, however, I began developing my own teaching strategies. My barometer for success was interest I could generate among the students who obviously wanted to be somewhere else.

One young man in particular sat slouched at his desk with his hoodie pulled over his head and a ball cap shading his eyes. He became my target.

I ignored the text and started reading out loud less traditional books on critical thinking — Malcolm Gladwell’s, Blink: The Power of Thinking Without Thinking, and Daniel Pink’s Drive: The Surprising Truth About What Motivates Us. And I showed them movies like The Pursuit of Happyness, about dealing with unemployment and racism, and a homeless man’s struggle to provide a better life for his son.

As we toned down the standard academia and discussed topics more contemporary and relevant, I noticed students becoming more engaged.

As interest increased, I couldn’t think of a better way of leading an Intro to Social Work class than by exposing these students to first hand experiences with the types of clients they may be involved with. So, we started field trips to social service programs around town.

These experiences would either heighten their interest or make them run like hell. Either would have been considered a success.

First, we went to the Randall County Juvenile Detention Center and spent the entire time visiting with kids, in cells, labeled as adjudicated delinquents. My students were completely enthralled by how forthcoming the young “inmates” were in their stories of traumatic homelives, bad school experiences, and crimes they’d committed.

The following week we met at a shelter for battered women and children, and heard harrowing stories of domestic violence, drugs, and child abuse. I was amazed at how engaging the students were, and how positively and openly the women responded to their warmth.

Next, we met at a men’s homeless shelter and found that most of the men suffered from alcoholism, drug addiction, or mental illness. One of my students told me ahead of time his father was at the shelter we’d be visiting. I asked if he wanted to be dismissed from class that night, and he said,

“Heck no sir. I’d like to set it up where we have dinner with the men. My dad will cook for y’all and everything.”

To say I was touched by the young man’s empathy towards his father would be an understatement, and without hesitation, I let that young man take the lead — and dinner was great and everyone stayed late!

Between off campus trips, we’d meet in class to debrief our field experiences. The students were animated as they reported observations and talks with the people, and regardless of whether or not it changed the trajectory of a student’s career path, it opened their eyes.

By the end of the semester, the young man who once slouched at his desk with his head buried under his hoodie and eyes beneath his ball cap, was sitting up straight and fully engaged in class discussion.

The young man decided to pursue his bachelor’s in social work and kept me updated on his academic progress. Upon graduating, he called and asked me to be a personal reference as he applied for a position as a juvenile probation officer with the Randall Country Juvenile Probation Department.

“That field trip we took to the detention center changed my life,” he said. “I’ll never forget the way you talked to those kids in the jail.”

For the purposes of this story, it’s the students in my class I’m bragging about, not myself. But I’ll admit to adding more than one marble to my “done good” jug because of them.

Your Words and Example Matter More Than You Think was originally published in Bragging Writes on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.