The case of an apple falling close to the tree.
As I open this post, it’s going to sound like I’m tooting my own horn. I promise I’m not. This post isn’t about me. But in order to understand the observation I’m going to share, I have to give you a little background.
And that means I need to talk about myself.
I’m not a fan of this, honestly. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve talked about my story. I’ve shared my Star Wars resume. I’ve shared some pretty embarrassing stories like the time I jumped through an overturned aquarium. Or my ax-ident. I’ve also shared some fun and life-changing things. But I really don’t like to toot my own horn.
But here goes…
Back when I was working in a bookstore a few years ago, I was serving as Key Carrier during the Christmas rush. It was hectic. People were almost lined up throughout the store and I was working with two new team members. Unexpected and unusual things kept happening throughout the shift. I would help my new colleagues handle the different situations that came up. The whole night could have been a disaster. We were on the brink of disaster most of the night. But we survived the shift and closed the store with minimal casualties.
“Matt,” one of my new teammates said, “I don’t know how you did it. You were calm the whole time. And you helped me stay calm.”
A few years later, I was working in a different office. It was high-stress environment. Several times throughout my time in this office, colleagues would say to me, “I don’t know what we’d do without you. You’ve had such a calming effect on [name redacted]. You don’t even know how much your calming influence has impacted [name redacted], and the rest of us.”
I have come to find out that job references have echoed the same sentiment, saying that I help others remain calm during stressful situations – even long-term stressful situations.
Not a team player?
When asked what my strengths are, I used to say that I was a team player. I know that’s a buzzword that gets thrown around a lot, so I’ve always struggled with using that term. It’s true, though. When I’m on a team, my main goal is the team’s success. And we’ll celebrate the team’s wins together.
I’ve decided to stop using that phrase. Like I said, team player is a pretty common buzzword. It’s lost its meaning. And it doesn’t really describe me to someone who doesn’t know me. In my most recent interview (for my dream job, I might add), I told my future boss that my greatest strength is that I have a calming influence on my team.
https://www.instagram.com/p/Bo_r4p6he5q/
I recently had a performance review. Guess what was discussed during that review. My calming influence when things are stressful.
You get the idea.
I’ve probably belabored the point here. And I’m kind of at the point where this feels a bit uncomfortable for me. Because all I’ve done is talk about me. And this post really isn’t about me. I promise.
This isn’t about me.
I’ve done some reflecting after my review. And I’ve come to the realization that I’m not the only one who has this personality trait. During my time of reflection, I came to realize that I’ve spent my life learning from someone who oozes calm in every situation. Like I’ve already said, this post isn’t about me.
It’s about my Dad.
I was honored to have a front row seat in a lifelong training course in how to remain calm, cool, and collected during stressful situations. Is he passionate about things? Yes (ahem – Go Hoosiers!). Has he been disappointed? Sure. Has he gotten angry? Of course. But Dad has managed to maintain an even keel even through some of the most difficult and stressful of situations.
Even as a baseball coach.
You might remember that I was an assistant coach for Aiden’s baseball teams throughout his short baseball career. I was following in Dad’s footsteps when I did that. He was an assistant coach throughout most of my short baseball career, too.
Except he never made his son cry on the field. Wait – I don’t think I’ve ever talked about that here. That’s really another post for another day. But let me tell you, it wasn’t pretty.
Anyway, dealing with kids in an instructional league can be an emotional challenge. You’ve got players who think they’re the next Don Mattingly. You’ve got others who don’t want to be there. And then there’s the parents. Most are great. Some, however, believe their players should be starting pitcher/first baseman/shortstop/lead-off hitter/cleanup hitter – not unlike the great Bugs Bunny himself.
Coaches have to balance all of these egos while focusing on the main thing – teaching kids the fundamentals of the game. And although I did make Aiden cry once, I know that I learned most of my coaching style was learned by watching him coach me and my teammates.
On top of old Baldy.
My second trek at Philmont Scout Ranch was not the most pleasant. The programs weren’t what we expected. We had to hike extra, unplanned miles while carrying water bags on our packs because we were visiting surprise Dry Camps. If I had to rank the treks that I experienced at Philmont, my second trek would probably come up last. In fact, one of its only saving graces was the fact that Dad was part of our crew.
I found out later that he was pretty miserable. Sore feet. Some internal issues. Even though there were moments when it felt like the world was falling apart around us in the middle of a cow pasture, a thousand miles away from home, Dad remained solid. I know he was uncomfortable. And he probably wasn’t having much fun throughout most of the trek. But he never broke down. A lot of people did. But he didn’t.
Even when we were climbing Mt. Baldy – a 12,441 foot mountain – in the middle of a cloud.
Baldy is steep. And the rocky terrain makes it feel like you’re sliding down the mountain with each step. It’s a challenge. I know Dad was hurting during the climb. He told me as much several years later. But he remained focused during the climb. The pain did not deter him. Dad remained calm when he could have panicked.
Home sweet home.
When I would come to him the night before an algebra test and ask for the help I should have asked for a week prior, Dad wouldn’t lose his cool. He probably should have. But he didn’t. He’d calmly explain how to do what needed to be done and would regularly remind me during my last-minute attempt at cramming complex mathematical processes that I really shouldn’t wait until the night before to ask for help. But he remained calm the entire time, even when I made things frustrating.
When I dropped a brick on my brother’s head (I don’t think I’ve talked about that here, either. Again, another post for another time), many people would panic at the sight of how massive his wound was. “He bled like a stuck pig,” Dad would tell me years later. I watched in horror as Dad jumped into action. I’m sure he was scared. I know he didn’t know what to do, except to do what he could to stop the bleeding. But he was calm. He acted with urgency. But he was calm. I know that kept me from having a meltdown, which would not have helped the situation.
Did he ever get angry with us? Sure. He didn’t let things slide. But he would usually handle things as evenhandedly as possible, even when dolling out major punishments.
Work environment.
Due to the nature of his work, I haven’t really seen Dad in action very much over the years. But I’ve heard things from people he’s worked with and from people who have worked for him. I’ve watched him address surprise business-related crises while we’re together. And I’ve definitely talked with him about office and business related issues. From my observations and conversations, I can say without a shadow of a doubt that he remains a calming force in his office, even when the poo has hit the proverbial fan and everything that could go wrong is going wrong.
How would Dad react?
I don’t know if I’ve ever verbally asked myself in a situation, “What would Dad do here? How would he react?” But I do find myself echoing the attitudes, reactions, and responses that I’ve witnessed over the years. I’ve even found myself exhaling the way he does when I know he’s trying to calmly explain something to someone who just isn’t understanding what he’s saying. It’s all second-nature to me, because it has been modeled for me over and over and over again.
Little eyes are watching.
Our children are watching. And they’re picking up on every little thing we do – even when we don’t realize we’re doing what we’re doing. I know that’s a scary prospect. Well, it is for me, anyway. That’s all the more reason to be mindful. Right?
Because no matter how much people try to argue otherwise, the boys of today really do become the men of tomorrow. And so the challenge for me – the challenge for all of us – is to remember that little eyes are watching. They’re always watching. And they’re modeling themselves after us. So let’s keep calm. Let’s step up our game. And let’s shape a positive future by impacting the current generation – our children, their friends, our neighbors, our community.
Because the apple doesn’t always fall that far from the tree. And that doesn’t have to be a bad thing.
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