Nuggets from Buck

 Buck Showalter once said, “Some coaches practice until you get it right. I believe you should practice until you can’t get it wrong.” That quote really stuck with me. It made me think about the difference between just doing something correctly once and truly mastering it. There’s a certain level of confidence and precision that comes when you’ve practiced so much that mistakes become almost impossible. That idea really challenged me to think differently about how I approach teaching and learning. 

One day, I decided to put that philosophy into practice with my own students. Normally, once most of the class seemed to understand a lesson, I would move on to the next topic. But this time, I kept going. I didn’t stop when they “got it right” a few times—I wanted them to reach the point where they couldn’t get it wrong. So we reviewed, practiced, and discussed the material over and over. At times it definitely felt repetitive, and I could tell some students were getting bored or restless. 

Even though repetition can feel tedious, I’ve learned it’s a key part of mastery. It’s in those repeated moments—the ones that feel a little dull—when understanding really sinks in. The students began to show more consistency, and their answers started coming naturally instead of hesitantly. I could see their confidence grow as they realized they didn’t have to second-guess themselves anymore. That was a powerful thing to watch. 

By the end of that day, I truly felt that the class had reached a different level of understanding. They weren’t just completing tasks; they were owning the material. It felt rewarding to see that steady effort pay off, both for them and for me as their teacher. It reminded me that learning isn’t always about speed—it’s about depth. 

Showalter’s words continue to resonate with me. Practicing until you can’t get it wrong takes patience, persistence, and a willingness to push through the boring parts. But that’s where real growth happens. Whether it’s in sports, academics, or life, that kind of dedication builds lasting skill and confidence. It’s a lesson I’ll carry with me in my classroom from now on. 

A community of Lifeguards

 

The job of a lifeguard is all about being observant. They spend their time scanning the water, always watching, always aware. They’re not just looking for someone in trouble—they’re looking for the little signs that something might go wrong before it does. They see the swimmer starting to get tired, the group that’s pushing the limits, the kid drifting too far from the edge. Lifeguards prevent problems before they happen. Their quiet vigilance keeps everyone safe.

In a lot of ways, that same idea applies to life in a school. Think about it—our classrooms and hallways are kind of like the pool. Everyone’s moving at their own pace, some confident, some struggling just to stay afloat. When we act like lifeguards, we look out for each other. Teachers check in on students. Students notice when a classmate seems off. We pay attention, not because we’re nosy, but because we care enough to make sure no one feels like they’re drowning.

And when we do see someone sinking a bit, we step in. Lifeguards don’t hesitate—they move to lift someone up. In a school, that might mean helping a friend who’s behind on work, giving a kind word to someone who’s stressed, or even just sitting with someone who looks like they could use some company. Small gestures, but they make a big difference. Those are the moments that define who we are as a community.

This time of year can be especially tough for our seniors. College applications, tests, practices, games, and everything else—they’re juggling so much. It’s easy to feel like the water’s rising a little too fast. That’s when we all need to be lifeguards—teachers offering support, classmates encouraging each other, and families reminding them that it’s okay to come up for air.

Imagine how strong our community could be if everyone took on that lifeguard mindset. If every hallway, classroom, and locker room was filled with people looking out for each other. No one would feel alone. Everyone would know someone’s watching out for them. That’s the kind of school I want to be part of—one where we all help each other stay afloat, and maybe even swim a little farther.

This thought originated from a leadership seminar I attended

 

The Power of Gratitude

 

As a teacher, I’ve come to realize that gratitude might be one of the most underrated forces in a classroom. We spend so much time focusing on performance, deadlines, and improvement that it’s easy to overlook the power of simply saying “thank you.” But gratitude—both giving and receiving it—can completely change the tone of a classroom, a team, or even a day. It’s not just good manners; it’s good psychology.

When students feel appreciated, something shifts. I’ve seen students stand a little taller after being thanked for their effort or attitude. A simple acknowledgment—“I noticed how you helped your classmate” or “I really appreciate your focus today”—can motivate far more than a grade ever could. Gratitude helps students feel seen, and when people feel seen, they’re more likely to stay engaged, take risks, and keep growing.

Gratitude doesn’t just help students—it helps teachers, too. On tough days, when the to-do list feels endless, pausing to notice what’s going right can reset everything. Taking a moment to thank a colleague for covering a duty, or to appreciate a student’s small act of kindness, reminds us why we do this work in the first place. Research backs this up: people who practice gratitude regularly report being happier, more resilient, and even sleep better. That is why I do three good things every day.

There’s also a fascinating side to gratitude that goes beyond mood. Some studies suggest that people who feel grateful are less likely to cheat or act dishonestly. That might seem surprising at first, but it makes sense. When we’re aware of how much others contribute to our success, we’re less likely to cut corners or take advantage. Gratitude connects us—it reminds us that we’re part of something bigger than ourselves.

In the end, gratitude builds community. It strengthens trust, boosts morale, and makes our classrooms more human. Every “thank you” creates a ripple that touches both the giver and the receiver. In a world that often pushes us to move faster and expect more, gratitude invites us to pause, appreciate, and belong. And that might just be the most powerful lesson of them all.

Lessons from the Seals

 Simon Sinek once shared a story about asking Navy SEALs what kind of people make it through their training. He assumed it might be the strongest, the fastest, or the most naturally gifted leaders. But the SEALs surprised him. They said it’s not the muscle-bound candidates, not the pure athletes, and not the ones who delegate well. The ones who make it are those who, when they are completely exhausted and feel like they have nothing left to give, still find the strength to look out for the person next to them. That selflessness, especially in the toughest moments, is what makes someone worthy of wearing the trident. 

I think there’s a lot in that lesson for us as teachers and students. School isn’t SEAL training, of course, but it can be exhausting in its own way. Deadlines pile up, expectations weigh heavy, and sometimes both teachers and students feel like we have nothing left in the tank. And yet, what if the true measure of success in our classrooms isn’t simply about who gets the best grades or who has the most talent, but about who continues to care for the people around them—even when it’s hard? 

For us as teachers, that means modeling selflessness. It’s easy to encourage and support when everything’s going smoothly. The real test is when we’re tired, when we’re stretched thin, and when patience is running low. Choosing to see our students, to encourage them, and to put their growth above our own exhaustion—that’s when we truly model what it means to “look out for each other.” Our students learn just as much from how we respond in those moments as they do from the content we teach. 

For students, the lesson is just as powerful. The ones who thrive are often not the smartest in the room, but the ones who make others feel seen and supported. Helping a classmate before a test, sitting with someone who feels left out, or offering encouragement when everyone else is tired—these are the things that build a community of trust. Just like the SEALs, students discover that they don’t succeed alone; they succeed together. 

At the end of the day, the Navy SEALs remind us that true strength is measured not in personal achievement, but in how we care for others when it’s hardest. Imagine a classroom where that was our culture—where teachers and students alike leaned on each other and lifted each other up in moments of exhaustion. That’s the kind of environment that doesn’t just prepare young people for tests, but prepares them for life. 

Building a Classroom for Lasting Purpose and Relationships

 

In Season of Life, Joe Ehrmann shows how the Gilman coaches use football as more than just a sport—it becomes a vehicle for shaping young men into people of empathy. My last blog talked about this book, and as a follow up I would like to share how this might look in a classroom. 

At the heart of a meaningful classroom is relationships. Grades, tests, and assignments matter, but what often leaves the deepest mark are the connections formed between students and teachers. When students feel seen, heard, and respected, they are more willing to take risks, share ideas, and grow. As teachers, we must model empathy by listening closely, valuing each student’s story, and affirming that every voice has worth. As students, we can encourage each other, celebrate differences, and remember that learning is never a solo journey. 

Another essential piece is purpose. Just as the Gilman football program emphasized playing for something larger than yourself, classrooms can cultivate a purpose that reaches beyond the walls of the school. When lessons tie into real-world challenges—whether through community service, collaborative projects, or simply reflecting on how knowledge can serve others—students begin to see that learning is not just about “me,” but about “we.” This shift from self-centered achievement to world-centered contribution builds character alongside intellect. 

Equally important is the commitment to never shame. Mistakes are a natural part of both sports and academics and shaming only silences growth. Instead, classrooms can be places of encouragement, where errors are seen as steppingstones and where everyone is given the dignity of second chances. Teachers who frame mistakes as opportunities—and students who treat one another with patience and kindness—create a culture of safety where true learning flourishes. 

The classroom should be a place where each person helps make the other better. That does not mean competing to be the best but rather striving to bring out the best in one another. When empathy, purpose, and encouragement define our daily interactions, classrooms become more than spaces for lessons—they become communities of character. And just like the Gilman football program, they prepare young people to step into the world ready not only to succeed, but to be effective. 

The challenge is for teachers, parents, and students to work together to make the world a better place in the future. 

Season of Life: Football as a lesson of life

Jeffrey Marx’s Season of Life goes far beyond the typical sports story. While it follows the Gilman School football program, the book isn’t about wins and losses on the field. Instead, it’s about the way coaches Joe Ehrmann and Biff Poggi use football as a vehicle to teach their players what it truly means to be a man. Their program becomes less about championships and more about character, empathy, and responsibility to others. 

At the heart of the Gilman philosophy is the idea that being a man isn’t about strength, status, or material success. Ehrmann and Poggi reject the narrow definition of masculinity often found in sports culture. Instead, they challenge their players to focus on relationships and compassion. Each practice and team meeting emphasizes that life is ultimately measured not by what you achieve for yourself, but by the impact you make on others. 

Empathy is a central lesson the coaches drive home. Players are reminded that real strength comes from understanding and caring about those around you. This is unusual in the world of high school athletics, where toughness and competitiveness are often prized above all else. At Gilman, however, vulnerability is not seen as weakness—it is embraced as an essential part of human connection. The team is encouraged to talk openly about their lives, their fears, and their hopes. 

Another major theme is the importance of relationships. Ehrmann teaches that success in life is determined by how well you love and how well you are loved. The bonds among teammates extend beyond the field, with players supporting one another through both victories and struggles. The message is clear: the ability to build meaningful relationships is a truer measure of manhood than any scoreboard could provide. 

Ultimately, Season of Life shows that football can be a powerful tool for shaping character. Ehrmann and Poggi use sports to instill values that extend far beyond high school. Their players learn that real manhood is about empathy, nurturing relationships, and helping others. In a society that often sends young men conflicting messages about masculinity, the Gilman program stands as a model of how sports can guide boys toward becoming men who make the world better. 

The challenge for all of us is to turn our subjects, activities, or teams into a tool that helps shape the character of the people we work with. 

 

When the right thing is the hard thing

 

In a couple of my classes, .   we talked about character this week.  With that in mind I wanted to post a couple of old posts in which two hall of fame coaches taught me character.  WOULD LOVE TO HEAR YOUR FEEDBACK

I remember coaching our basketball team during a tight game when a critical moment unfolded. The referee blew the whistle and signaled a foul on the opposing team’s best player. Immediately, I jumped off the bench to inform the ref that it was the player’s fifth foul, meaning he should be disqualified. However, when the ref checked the official scorebook, our home team’s book—it showed the player only had four fouls.

As I sat back down, I suddenly heard the opposing coach call out to the ref, “Coach Bressler is correct—that was number 24’s fifth foul. You either disqualify him, or I’ll take him out myself.” The referees conferred and ultimately ruled that the player had indeed fouled out.

In that moment, I realized something profound—I wasn’t sure I would have done the same if the roles were reversed. I probably would have rationalized keeping my player in the game, convincing myself that the book was the final word. But that day, I learned an important lesson about integrity. From that point on, whenever I faced similar situations, I thought back to that coach’s example, and it helped me make the right decision.

Every year, I find myself reflecting on the topic of cheating. Most people justify it in one way or another, everyone does it, the homework is pointless, or it's not really hurting anyone. The real danger is that when we want something badly enough, like winning a game, our reasoning becomes biased, and we convince ourselves that bending the rules is acceptable.

Many believe that the best way to prevent cheating is through punishment. While consequences may deter behavior in the moment, they often fail to change how people act when no one is watching. So, what’s the solution?

Gratitude. Studies show that when people take time to reflect on what they are grateful for, they not only treat those who have helped them with kindness but also extend that goodwill to complete strangers. In one study, participants who recalled a moment of gratitude were significantly less likely to cheat. The deeper their gratitude, the less they felt compelled to cut corners.

So, the next time you feel tempted to cheat—whether in sports, school, or life—pause and think of something you’re grateful for. That simple act can give you the inner strength to do the right thing, even when it is the hard thing.