By Stephen C. Schultz
There is something about August that always makes me reflective.
Backpacks begin appearing in stores. Teachers begin preparing their classrooms. Parents start talking about bedtimes again. Kids wonder who will be in their class, whether they'll make new friends, and if they'll recognize anyone when they walk through the school doors that first morning.
Before every school year begins, I find myself thinking about another kind of classroom.
The early morning dew dripped from the branches of the Douglas fir trees all around me. Ferns and waist-high brush soaked my pants from the knees down with every step. My head bobbed up and down in a steady rhythm, not because of music, but because I was trying to survive.
I looked down to make sure my footing was secure and then back up to keep my fishing pole from snagging in the branches overhead. It was quite the process for an eight-year-old making his way through the underbrush of the temperate rainforest we respectfully call the Oregon Coast.
I was following my dad as we made our way to Big Creek, about a half mile off an old logging road. Once we reached the stream, we worked our way along the water. I fished for trout with a Thomas lure while my dad cast for steelhead using salmon roe and a sinker.
We didn't catch a thing that day.
But we had a great time trying.
After eating the sandwiches we'd packed, my dad stood up and casually said, "Okay...let's head back to the truck."
I stood there waiting for him to start walking.
He didn't move.
Instead, he looked down at me and said, "Okay, Steve...you lead the way. I'll follow you."
I froze.
I had absolutely no idea which direction to go.
Until that moment, I had never really thought about where we were. I simply followed my dad.
Sensing my confusion, he smiled and turned the moment into one of the most valuable lessons of my childhood.
"It's always important to know where you are and how to get back to where you came from. That means paying attention. See that old stump up ahead? That's a landmark. Every time we go fishing, be sure to notice where we are, where we're going, and what will help us find our way back."
From that day forward, it became part of every fishing trip.
Sometimes we'd be a mile from the truck when Dad would suddenly ask, "Okay, Steve...which way do we go now?"
Other times we'd simply be driving somewhere in the country, and he'd ask the same question.
He wasn't just teaching me how to find my way through the woods.
He was teaching me to notice. He was teaching me to pay attention to my surroundings.
Looking back, I think that may have been one of the most valuable educations I ever received.
Years later, I realized schools have landmarks too.
Not the kind marked on a map. But, they are;
- The student eating lunch alone.
- The new kid quietly scanning the cafeteria before deciding where to sit.
- The child who always seems to be chosen last.
- The classmate who appears to have plenty of friends but somehow still seems alone.
- The student whose smile hides a difficult story.
- The child everyone notices for the wrong reasons.
We rarely know what another person is carrying.
Perhaps that's why paying attention matters.
Over the years, I've written several articles that touched on bullying from different perspectives. Looking back, I realize they were all asking a similar question, not simply how we should respond to bullying, but how we learn to notice the people around us.
If this topic interests you, you may also enjoy these earlier reflections:
How Should I Respond When Interacting with a Bully?
Lessons Learned from a Childhood Experience with Bullying
Why Should Bullies Get All of the Attention?
As another school year begins, I hope children learn to read well.
I hope they discover a love for science.
I hope they become curious about history.
I hope they learn mathematics, music, art, and literature.
But I also hope they learn something that may never appear on a report card.
I hope they learn to notice.
To notice the student who may need a friend.
To notice the child who quietly slips into the classroom unnoticed.
To notice the classmate who simply needs someone to say hello.
Those small moments may seem insignificant.
Years later, they may become the landmarks someone remembers most.
Every now and then, I still hear my dad's voice.
"Okay, Steve...which way do we go from here?"
As another school year begins, perhaps that's still a worthwhile question.
Maybe we simply need to ask it a little differently.
Who have you noticed today?
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