A friend called the other day and asked a question and hoped it would not insult me, but he was very upset and needed to vent to someone. He reiterated a story to me in which someone had been talking in a classroom about his not being qualified to be an instructor. It must be said upfront that my friend is clearly qualified to be an instructor and may be one of the most qualified in the fire service today. But that does not mean that he does not have a critic. He does; we all do. Apparently, this other gentleman mentioned in a class that he thought my friend was unqualified and should not be teaching the subject.
My friend was asking me because I had written a blog about becoming passionate in the classroom some time back and disparaging another instructor. It was a terrible thing to do. It was an unprofessional thing to do. I take no pride in admitting to having been a complete brute and boor and wasting my students’ time by speaking unkindly about someone else and his work. It was a transgression that I regret and for which I apologize.
My friend asked me if he should ask this other gentleman for a similar apology. We discussed that doing so would have absolutely no positive outcome. Apologies are beneficial only when they are genuine, not when they are coerced. Apologies are beneficial only for the one apologizing; they do little for the one who was harmed other than, hopefully, giving him a chance to forgive. It made us both muse about what it is about instructors that often causes them to go off on rants about other instructors. Often these rants are unprovoked; universally, they are unnecessary.
I reminded my friend about the great quote from Teddy Roosevelt on criticism and on those who strive to try to make a difference. Roosevelt said, “It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”
We also discussed a great historical example of how we can get derailed when it becomes about us and not the mission. Prior to the Revolutionary War, he was a captain in the Governor’s Second Company of Guards. When he heard of the Battles of Lexington and Concord, he marched off, eager for action. At Cambridge, he requested permission to capture Ft. Ticonderoga. But Ethan Allen and his Green Mountain Boys were well ahead of him in the task; he had to concede to accompanying Allen. He was involved in the invasion of Canada, but he refused to submit to others’ commands, and he immediately dismissed all his troops after resigning his commission. The Canadian invasion plans were still in the works, and it was George Washington who proposed his name to the Continental Congress. He was commissioned a colonel and given pretty much a free hand.
He was zealous and encouraging, but the conditions were hard. Some of his men deserted. Snow, rain, mud, and hunger were relentless, but he pressed on. On December 31, 1775, he tried to take Quebec, but things went poorly for the Americans. He was wounded in his leg. He was in command and refused to end the siege, bellowing orders from his sickbed; the expedition failed anyway.
He went to Montreal and successfully evacuated Montreal. While en route to Philadelphia, he successfully routed the British after they burned Danbury. A few weeks later, he was the only volunteer to take Fort Schuyler. At the Battle of Freeman’s Farm, it was his actions that led to the American success; and, as a direct result, France came to the aid of our infant country.
He spent the winter of 1777 with the army at Valley Forge. On May 30, 1778, he signed the Oath of Allegiance. But by May 1779, he had begun bargaining with the British. The British provided handsomely for Benedict Arnold but never completely trusted him; no one ever would again. He died in 1801, virtually unknown, vilified, and despised still-and most assuredly will be for countless generations to come.
I once asked Chief Alan Brunacini for advice when I was the victim of an attack by another instructor. The chief told me, “Remember, they always cut down the tallest tree first.” The chief meant we could be a threat to others, so eliminating us makes them feel safer or bigger.
It is easy to say we should forgive and forget, but egos are fragile things, and we all care what folks think of us. Some folks might say they don’t, but they are generally very unattractive people. They say every saint has a past and sinner a future, so don’t be too hard on yourself if you have made a similar mistake. We all have critics, and we all have been critical. We should all apologize and forgive because friends come and go, but enemies accumulate.
