Trusted friend, affection can make a difference

Reading a book on Seabiscuit, the miracle racehorse, with my 5-year-old daughter I was reminded of the power of seeing the soul.

If you recall, Seabiscuit was the son and grandson of great racehorses, and by all accounts should have been a great racehorse, too. But in two years and more than 35 races he had yet to win. He even lacked the look of a race horse — his legs were short, his forelegs crooked, and when he ran some people said he looked like an egg beater. In addition, he was also a troublemaker, extremely overweight and would sleep in all morning. (I had no idea that horses could get depressed).

But then a horse trainer named Tom Smith saw Seabiscuit, really saw him. He looked him in the eye, saw his spirit and said, "l see you again." He convinced his boss to buy the horse and began training him. Only, he didn't train him like every other horse. Tom knocked down a wall in his stall to make it more roomy. Then he brought in a stray dog and monkey to keep Seabiscuit company.

Tom then did the most vital thing — he continually showered Seabiscuit with affection, even sleeping in the barn at times. Once trust was established, Seabiscuit began to perform. He won his first race, right out of the gate, so to speak. In six years he won 33 races and more prize money than any other racehorse in history. Not only did he win as a racehorse, but because it was during the Great Depression, he gave many people hope that if such an unlikely racehorse could win, maybe they could beat the Depression, too.

What impresses me most in this story is the eye and heart of Tom Smith. He took the time to see Seabiscuit, really see him. And once he saw what lay in the heart of this misunderstood horse — likely because Tom had experienced that, too — he didn't sit around complaining about his life but used his knowledge and love to develop potential outside of himself.

It has reminded me of children I have known and had the privilege to work with, one particularly when I was student teaching, whom I'll call Carlos. For the first few days I was in the classroom, observing before I would take over the class to student teach, I noticed that he was the most difficult child in the room.

He would constantly speak out of turn, do the opposite of what the teacher asked and in general cause a ruckus, except for two hours a day. That was when he went to resource class. In preparing to take over the class, I talked with the teacher about each student and how to handle them: She told me not to even deal with Carlos as there wasn't anything to do with him, and that he would be in resource class most of the time anyway.