It was 1971. It was my very first year of teaching at Fair Oaks Elementary School in California.
And they weren’t really BAD kids, even though the other teachers complained about them in those terms. In those days, there was no internet, no social media, and no endless stream of outrageous videos to define what "bad" even looked like. By today's standards, they were just mischievous, energetic boys who loved testing boundaries.
Here’s an example:
One morning, I stood at the classroom door greeting students as they filed in. Suddenly, I felt something on one shoulder … then the other. I cut my eyes to the sides. Two pairs of beady little eyes stared back at me. Rats! One on each shoulder. I felt oddly grateful as I carefully lifted them off and handed them to the boys who came forward sheepishly to claim them. Wow, this could have been so much worse! It was California, after all. They could have been tarantulas!
Was it a test? I guess I passed. Whatever the reason, my after-school program soon became filled with—you guessed it— “the BAD kids."
They were lively, adventurous and almost always in motion. Most of them were boys who needed a challenge to pour that energy into. So instead of fighting their energy, I decided to use it. I planned high energy activities and sports, including touch football, gymnastics, and track and field. We even trained for the President's Council on Physical Fitness tests. This was 1971, back when you could get kids to do a lot for a patch from the president.
It so happened that they developed a great interest in track and field. And, for whatever reason, a small group of boys developed an unexpected fascination with a particular event. Not running. Not relay races. High jump.
Why high jump? Honestly, I have no idea!
Let’s clarify; I’m not talking about pole vault—that's a different event altogether. I mean good, old-fashioned high jump. In its best version, you sprint diagonally toward a raised bar as fast as you can, launch yourself into the air, dip one shoulder, gather your arms and legs, roll over the bar in mid-air, and land on your back in a pit of soft foam scraps. In its worst version, you run at the bar, fling yourself over it head-first, arms and legs waving, and land however and wherever you end up!
What's not to love?
I'd competed in track and field myself and knew how to do the Western Roll, so I demonstrated it. Once they saw it, they were hooked. Soon, these boys lived for high jump. We didn't even own a high jump setup, so we built one. Our school janitor became intrigued and helped us improvise equipment. One student's father worked at a carpet store and donated scraps of thick rubber padding for a landing pit. The principal stopped by to encourage us. Everyone pitched in.
By the time we finished, we were ready for our own Fair Oaks Olympics. Teachers wandered over to see what all the excitement was about. They left amazed. These were the same boys that many adults had written off as troublemakers. Yet here they were, practicing jump after jump until their faces were bright red and sweat soaked their shirts. I usually had to make them stop in order to lock up and go home for the evening.
One afternoon, someone asked, "What's the highest jump anyone's ever made?"
Without the internet, I had no way of looking it up, and besides, world records wouldn't mean much when comparing adults with elementary school boys.
So I guessed.
"Maybe four feet."
Some of those boys weren't even four feet tall themselves!
That's when one of them said it.
"I bet we can jump four feet."
I laughed. I honestly didn't think there was the slightest chance. But they kept insisting. Finally, one boy grinned and said, "I bet five dollars we can do it." In a moment of weakness, I shook his hand. We were on.
Instantly, everything changed. High jump fever swept through the group. They wanted to practice before school. After school. During lunch. At recess. Every spare minute. Then, just as high jump excitement reached its peak, my husband was transferred. I would be leaving the school
Suddenly our time together was running out. The boys practiced harder than ever. Their brows glistened with sweat. They begged for "just one more jump."
Now, I have to admit something. I wasn't studying the height markings on the supports all that carefully. And I've often suspected that our wonderfully supportive janitor may have "adjusted" those markings just a little. Whether he did or not, I'll never know. But on my final lunch break, a crowd of kids gathered to give it their final try. The room was filled with buzzing, like a hive of industrious bees. And then there was a pause.
I saw it with my own eyes. One after the other, those four boys literally sailed over that bar. Granted, my eyes were filled with tears at the time.
The room exploded with excitement. The boys shouted. Everyone cheered. Then everything suddenly became quiet. All eyes turned toward me. Everyone was waiting to see what was going to happen next.
Without saying a word, I reached into my purse, pulled out four five-dollar bills, and handed one to each winner.
Silence.
The rest of the afternoon disappeared in a whirlwind of packing and saying my good-byes. Just before the close of day, there was a knock at my classroom door. It was the principal. And the four winning high jumpers. No one looked very happy.
The principal spoke first.
"I can't approve of betting on school grounds."
Each boy stepped forward and held out his five-dollar bill to me.
The principal looked at them—and then at me.
"What you've learned from this experience," he said quietly, "is worth far more than five dollars."
"I hope you always remember it."
And I always have.
TIP:
Whenever someone tells you that a child is a "bad kid,” be sure you find out what they really mean. And keep in mind the story about four energetic boys who each channeled their inner dynamo and discovered they could do something nobody believed possible—and a young teacher who learned never to underestimate what children can accomplish when someone believes in them.
Children often rise to meet their highest potential when they're given encouragement and a goal — especially when they can raise the bar themselves.
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