One of the most valuable lessons I’ve learned is to tell someone “I see you.”
I learned this lesson when I was a lifeguard at the community pool in a poor neighborhood in Pittsburgh. Kids from the neighborhood spent all day, every day of the summer at the pool. Their parents worked. They couldn’t afford camp or daycare. There was nothing else to do. So we got them.
In the beginning, I was constantly policing the kids to enforce the rules. They’d dive in the shallow end. They’d shove each other into the pool. They’d run around the deck instead of walking. I was blowing my whistle and penalizing them for some infraction all day long.
But after the first few weeks I noticed something.
My “worst” rule breakers were pretty good kids. I’d see them try to get away with some minor infraction and then quickly glance up at me to see if I was paying attention. Instead of blowing my whistle, I’d smile, shake my head and wag my finger at them or make a face.
Soon, these kids started calling me to watch them perform some trick. They wanted me to see how deep they could dive, time how long they could hold their breath or referee a race. Or they’d ask me if they could help test the water, vacuum the pool or do some other work for me.
A few began hanging out under my chair, where I made the worst infractors sit on timeout. I figured they did this to keep their friends company while they were on timeout.
Then one day when I told one kid that his timeout was up and he could go, he said, “I’m just gonna sit here and talk to you if that’s OK”.
All they wanted was someone to notice they were there.
In one summer, these kids taught me what my real job was.
It wasn’t to enforce the rules and maintain order. Some of the rules made sense. Others we ignored. A bunch we bent when circumstances permitted. Besides, I knew that most of the kids snuck into the pool at night after we closed and did anything they wanted.
It wasn’t to keep them safe. I only “rescued” a handful of kids that summer. One cracked her head doing a flip. Two others ran full speed into each other jumping into the pool. Another cut her foot on a piece of glass. None were in danger of drowning.
It was to tell them “I see you” and show them I cared about them.
I spent the rest of that summer learning their names, getting to know their friends, siblings, and occasionally their parents, teaching them to swim and mostly just talking to them. We talked about school. We talked about swimming We talked about fights. We talked about boyfriends and girlfriends. I’d tell them stories about where I grew up and what college was like.
On rainy days, there were always a few dejected kids with no place to go. They’d hang outside the fence hoping the rain would stop so we would open the pool. We’d invite them into our office and let them play cards with the guards.
I’m not sure if the kids had more fun or the lifeguards did. But it was a pretty great summer.
It’s been thirty years since I sat in the lifeguard chair.
I’ve moved far away from that town. The pool was closed years ago. The kids have all grown up and probably have kids of their own.
I’ve long since forgotten most of their names and many of their faces. But I haven’t forgotten the lesson they taught me.
It doesn’t just apply to kids.
It applies to wives, husbands, mothers and fathers.
It applies to friends.
It applies to coworkers, employees and bosses.
It applies to the cashier at the grocery store.
It applies to the guy trying to squeeze in front of me in traffic to make the next exit.
It applies to my neighbor struggling to carry a dresser into his house.
It even applies to our pets.
It applies to me and to you.
I try to honor this lesson by putting my cell phone away, making eye contact, smiling, listening intently and paying full attention to the person in front of me.
Doing this is all that’s required to make an impact in another person’s life.
I see you.