If you think you are beaten, you are.
If you think you dare not, you don’t.
If you’d like to win but you think you can’t,
It’s almost a cinch you won’t.
If you think you’ll lose, you’re lost,
For out of the world we find
Success begins with a fellow’s will -
It’s all in the state of mind.
If you think you’re outclassed, you are;
You’ve got to think high to rise;
You’ve got to be sure of yourself before
You can ever win a prize.
Life’s battle doesn’t always go
To stronger or faster men;
But sooner or later the man who wins,
Is the one who thinks he can.
-Anonymous
My father gave me a paper copy of these
untitled lines when I was very young. I carried it for decades in my
wallet until it became torn and tattered beyond recognition. Every
now and then when I was feeling defeated after a sports contest, an
attitude adjustment, or a tough setback in my life, I read the words.
They gave me hope and comfort, but most of all, the poem gave me
determination, will power, and a character trait often assumed
excessive and overbearing by many: With my voice and my pen I refuse
to "shut up."
At an early age, I had friends who
trusted me to speak out about things that were on our minds. They
elected me president of my class from my freshman through my senior
year in high school. By no means was I the smartest or most talented
person in my class, but I accepted their vote of confidence and made
a continuous effort to listen to others and voice their constructive
opinions.
My friends gave me an opportunity to
think and to respond. They allowed me to become a person who
understands that dialogue within a team can lead to ironing out
problems and putting a “voice” to possible solutions. My friends
allowed me to lose some battles while they still trusted me to
represent many other concerns. They didn't allow me to speak out
because they, themselves, were inarticulate or indifferent. They did
so because it merely became my role. We each had “a part to play”
in our changing school days of the late '60s.
After high school graduation in 1969, I
took this responsibility of “speaking out” into a different
arena. I became the director of the West End Tutoring Center. Still
dripping wet behind the ears, a church in the West End of Portsmouth
hired me for the position because I spoke my mind with clarity. (I
was told this later by one of the board members.) In this position I
was given the opportunity of operating a program that required good
links of communication between needy grade school children and much
more affluent high school tutors. I loved the work, and I learned
then that the tutors needed and loved the kids as much as the kids
needed and loved the tutors.
After attending college and achieving
my undergraduate degree in Secondary English Education, I landed a
job at Valley High School. Mr. James A. Young, my high school
principal, was then superintendent and recommended me for the
position. I thought about my love for the man who had put up with my
“loud mouth” in high school and who had helped me learn how to
formulate my ideas with better sense. After all, our time together
had been the days of counterculture and revolution. Mr. Young helped
me understand the tremendous worth of morals, values, and correction
directly applied when needed. Having him recommend me for the
position made me glow.
Sometime later during my first year of
teaching (Which, by the way, is a terrifying but essential step on
the road to forgetting theory and becoming a good teacher in
practice), I talked with Mr. Young about his confidence in me -- a
teen more interested in rock and roll, sports, and high school fun
than being an exceptional student (I never dreamed as a teen that I
would become a teacher.)
Mr. Young related a story to me about
when I had stood up for beliefs when a coach had taken me into the
principal's office for quitting a high school team. I listened in
disbelief as Mr. Young said, “I agreed with you but understood the
position of the coach. I've always admired you for speaking your mind
and sticking to your guns.” I will never forget him sharing that
with me.
In my years of teaching, I encouraged
my classes to express themselves and become better equipped at using
language to give them power – power in college writings, power in
confidently believing their “hillbilly” voices are every bit as
intellectual as any other, power to use their language skills to gain
income and position. They knew I couldn't keep my mouth shut as their
teacher, and I confessed this fault to them many times. I begged them
to believe in themselves.
Many of these same students have become
everything better than I became, and they continue to amaze me. I
love to hear about their lives and their continued accomplishments.
They are loving friends of mine, and they have learned far more than
I ever have.
You see, I still talk too much about
those things of which I am passionate. I tend to be loud and openly
emotional. I have broken into other people's conversations, spoken
out of turn, and stuck my foot in my large mouth far too many times
to count. My hard head has been wrong, and many others have witnessed
my stupid actions and deeds. I know I should learn to be quieter,
and, ironically, I most respect those who like the
character of lawyer Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird speak
softly with a few wise words.
But “quiet” is not me. It is not my
role on the team. I simply never shut up. I still often spill the
wrong words, make a big mess, and then come back to modify my
position with the help of a caring group of friendly teammates. I
still try to modify these behaviors; however, my mouth and,
sometimes, my pen feel useless unless I let my words escape. It's a
habit close to 50 years in the making.
Today, I feel the urge to speak about a
complicated story expressed to me by uncounted individuals. My voice
is getting older, rather ragged and rough at times, yet I know some
value exists in strident tones. A clamorous voice can wake people up,
make them move, and cause them to consider “just what that racket
is all about.” I can't shut up. It's a big part of what I am about.
Sometimes it gets me into a lot of trouble and sometimes it seems to
help. I will continue to seek refinement, but I'm just not too good
at practicing it.
"First learn the meaning of what you
say, and then speak."
-Epictetus, Greek philosopher
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