TOADTalk: Being Grateful for Failures

We mess up everyday, and sometimes that’s what helps us grow.
Monday morning’s All-School Assembly launches with the Teacher On Active Duty (TOAD) sharing something of interest—a reflection, a story or song, a demonstration of some sort, or a simple poem. In this way, every week, the community gets to know one of our own a little better. Last week, Tyler Popa was the TOAD. Tyler joined the Thacher faculty in 2018 as a math teacher; he is also the interim athletic director and coaches boys’ varsity basketball and cross country, and boys’ JV tennis. His TOADTalk is featured below.

Considering that my TOADTalk comes right before Thanksgiving, I thought I would speak on what I am thankful for. I am certainly thankful for the usual kind of things: my family, my health, countless modern conveniences, coffee, basketball, Robin’s baked goods, Scout, and of course the greatest gift of all—my lovely wife. Now these are all great things, I definitely show gratitude for these things over this Thanksgiving season. However, today I am going to put a twist on what I am thankful for and challenge you to be thankful for more than just family, friends, and conveniences. My hope is that these three stories will shed light on who I am as a person as well as challenge you to a new perspective. Try to see if you can connect the theme in these three stories.

First story—Young Popa

When I was in middle school I certainly had a favorite class. No, sorry Math 2B, the answer was not math. Although I liked that class, the only class that I elected to take every semester from sixth grade until 12th grade, including a few semesters in college, was P.E. For some people gym class is the dreaded experience depicted in the movies: the horror stories of scary gym teachers yelling at you, getting pegged in the face with a dodgeball, and having to smell the rest of the day because of your body odor. None of that was true for me. I had nice gym teachers, I was (or at least I felt like I was) the one pegging others in dodgeball, and in middle school we had Axe body spray, so no worries. … Ignorance is bliss? Anyways, it makes sense that I loved P.E. My mom was, and still is, a P.E. teacher. When we were younger she would shut off our electronics after an hour and kick us out of the house, saying “go play outside.” Idleness was trained out of my DNA from an early age.

So, back to the reason for this particular story. One morning, in sixth grade, we were running around the gym doing our typical warmup laps. This particular morning sticks out to me, but not for any reason related to athletics. At this time, my peers started playing this game around school. Our teachers hated it and for good reason. I’ve heard some call it “pantsing,” but we called it “depantsing.” Anyways, if you haven’t heard of it, its when really mature, thoughtful people come from behind and pull your shorts down, so you the victim, are caught with your shorts around your ankles, undergarments (hopefully) exposed. Not really a good idea. But I was 12-years old and yep, you guessed it, I decided to participate that morning. So, when we turned the corner, and while I thought Coach Oscarsen was looking the other way, I depantsed my friend. Success! So much social capital won and wow, I really felt better about my humiliating a friend. … “POPA” I heard from across the gym. Sheepishly I jogged over to coach, who gave me a quiet scolding. The worst of it was my gym teacher knew my family well. Before I could even get home from school, he had already called my mom. “Tyler—Coach Oscarsen called home.” My heart dropped and I knew I was in for it. Correction number one. Don’t depants a friend, it’s not worth it.

Story #2—High School Popa

Some of you know in high school I really fell in love with organized sports. I went to a small Christian high school, similar in culture and feel to Thacher. Although, I graduated with a class of 43. So imagine how “small” Thacher feels, we were even smaller. Anyways, athletics were a big part of the school and although there were no sports requirements, many of the students played multiple sports and almost every team was coached by one of our teachers. During my time at Valley Lutheran High School, I had lettered in varsity football, cross country, basketball, soccer, and golf. The last of those became my obsession. My father was at one time a professional golfer and former two-time captain of the Ohio State golf team. Although I gained valuable life experience from the other sports I played, I was a golfer first and foremost. During fall and winter seasons, I’d go to my sports, but I’d also find time to get to the course, read books, and watch videos about improving my golf game.

By senior year I had become quite a skilled golfer and had set high expectations to compete for the state title in my division. In the tournament leading up the state meet, I had played very well and shot 73-74 to finish 2nd in the region tournament. I was very confident that I could put up some low numbers the next week and do some damage. However, the damage I ended up doing that following week was on my own reputation. On the first day of the tournament, I had a horrible opening nine holes. Finishing with a dreaded 8 (or snowman) on the 9th hole. For those who don’t know the significance of this score, think about it like turning the ball over in basketball or soccer on four consecutive plays. As I left the hole to make the turn, I lost it. Sadly, I had not had the best track record in keeping my composure. I had actually finished multiple rounds of golf with broken clubs. And to be honest, not broken by accident. As I walked away from the hole, I lost my cool, repeatedly swearing at myself for all to hear. I grew up in a house where the “S” word was shut-up. Let’s just say I was not yelling “shut-up.” It was not a pretty sight. I think my opponents were in disbelief that a nice Jekyl had turned into Hyde in mere minutes. I was able to salvage a commendable score on the back nine and even walk off the course with somewhat of a smile on the last hole... that was until I saw my coach. He had not forgotten, nor had the other coaches forgotten what I had done after the 9th hole. I had embarrassed myself, the school, and disrespected the game which requires composure and resilience. There was talk amongst the coaches of even disqualifying me from the tournament. I heeded my coaches recommendation to go and apologize to every coach that was still around and ensure the tournament director that that would not happen again. I was mortified and those conversations were very uncomfortable. Correction number two. Your actions have consequences, even when not directed at others.

Story #3—Mr. Popa

I had recently graduated college and found myself teaching middle school math and science as part of the Alliance for Catholic Education, a masters of education program through the University of Notre Dame. GO IRISH! I was placed in an under-resourced Catholic school working with mostly first and second generation immigrant families who sacrificed a lot to send their kids to private school. To be honest, I thought I was doing exactly as God had called me to do: go and serve at the margins, love other people and share one of the greatest gifts we can all have—an education. I loved my kids, even when in fifth grade homeroom, a student pulled me aside and said, “Mr. Popa, I think I just sharted.” I said back to him calmly, “Do you need to check?” (Head nod). I stayed up late writing lesson plans, I coached sports after school pro-bono, I even started book club, where I’d wake up an extra 30 minutes early, grab a box of donuts in the early hours of the morning and meet my students for hot chocolate and discussion about Harry Potter or Percy Jackson. Again, I thought I was doing it all right, and hey I was only 22! Go me!

That was until my Notre Dame supervisor came to watch my class about a month and a half into the fall semester. She was not as impressed as I was with myself. Go figure, I wasn’t the greatest gift to God’s green earth. She pointed out some serious flaws and concerns in my teaching practices. My unit plans were not complete, my desk was visibly messy, and my parent logs were not kept, just to name a few. To be honest, at first I was super defensive. I thought, “What does she know! I’m the one doing this everyday!” It took me a while to get over myself (probably more than a year). I was hurt that someone had criticized my effort. When in fact, I was trying really hard! I was pouring my heart and soul into this vocation and my intentions were pure. But, the lesson I eventually learned was that effort is not always what matters. I had 26 young children who had relied on more than just my effort. Their ability to pass math standards was actually of essential importance. I slowly cleaned up my act, but my wounded pride took a long time to heal. Correction number three—even when you think you are doing the right thing, you might need correction.

So what do all three of these stories have in common? How can I really be thankful for these times of failure? It takes some time and many doses of humility, but through experiences in life we begin to see we are far from perfect. Because of the important mentors in my life who were willing to call me out and hold me to a higher standard, I am who I am today. One—I don’t depants anyone anymore. Success! Two—I refrain from swearing and venting my frustration verbally (as much as I can). It’s been a long journey! Three—I don’t always assume the way I do something is perfect, even if I have pure intentions. Humility in progress. 

So I challenge you this Thanksgiving to commit to reflecting on your young lives. What are you thankful for? Outside of conveniences that make your life more pleasurable, in what ways have you failed? And who are the mentors who have held you to a higher standard and helped you grow along the way? It is in acknowledging these higher standards, as well as your inability to achieve them on your own, that you start to realize the better world you want to create. 
 
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