Practicing Courage

A little over a week ago, my wife Jennifer shook me awake shortly after midnight. "Someone is outside!" 

Sure enough, there was person just outside our bedroom window, which is a glass slider, dressed in black from head-to-toe, including a balaclava covering his face. Classic "bad guy" attire. I banged on the window, shouting, "Get out of here! Get out of here!" He glanced my way, but otherwise ignored me as he went through our stuff.

As Jennifer called 911, I ducked into the closet where I keep a baseball bat. For the better part of four decades, I've joked that this was our "security system," but this was the first time I'd resorted to it. I returned to the window, hoping that the sight of me wielding a bat would suffice. I banged on the glass again, warning him we were on the phone with the police. He completely ignored me as he moved about looking, I assume, for something to steal. I wouldn't have cared so much if he'd just taken something and run off, but his continued, unconcerned presence felt dangerous. 

I waited until he moved away from the door, then flung it open and stepped outside. Jennifer later told me I "leapt" out shouting a fierce line from the Quentin Tarantino movie we'd watched together before going to bed. I don't remember that. All I knew was that I needed to be ferocious and loud. 

Over the years, I've occasionally imaged how I'd use that bat to protect my family, but the reality was something else. Instead of backing away or running off, the man came toward me, taunting, "I'm sooo scared." In that moment, I recognized the situation I was in. There was a very real chance that he would wrest control of the bat from me. In a flash, I realized that my only hope was to swing as hard as I could. 

I've played a lot of baseball in my life (hence the bat) and I put everything I had into it, aiming for his head. His hands came up protectively, but I could also see that he meant to grab the bat. Fortunately for both of us he withdrew his hands and dodged away only to then immediately take another step back toward me. But I was ready, bat poised. He took a couple steps back into the lawn, staying out of reach, then began to dance about a bit, again taunting, "I'm sooo scared. I'm sooo scared."

I know I spoke to him. Probably something like, "The police are on their way." Finally, he danced off, then cockily, over his shoulder, he called out, "Have a nice night!"

I imagine that some of you, having read this, are thinking, "Well, that was stupid" or "Teacher Tom got lucky." You might even be thinking, "Good thing he didn't have a gun." And you're not wrong. But still . . .

The Ancient Greeks, and Plato in particular, identified what they called the four "cardinal virtues": wisdom, justice, temperance, and courage. In our psychological age, we tend to think in terms of temperament, our innate tendencies, but the ancients spent more time considering character, those qualities we cultivate.

The interesting thing about these virtues is that they all exist at the mid-point of a continuum. In the case of courage, it stands between the extremes of cowardliness and rashness. It might have all gone terribly wrong, but had I stayed safely inside shaking my fist, I suspect I'd not be feeling so good about myself. And I do feel good about myself. I've felt particularly alive for the past week or so. One after another, my neighbors have told me that I was both a fool and a hero. 

Goethe wrote, "Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it." I've been feeling the reality of that.

We tend to avoid talking about "virtues" in the modern world. That's probably because Christian philosophers like Thomas Aquinas adopted and adapted Greek philosophy for theological purposes and in our secular age, especially in our schools, we steer clear of anything that smacks of religious indoctrination.

That said, we continue to value wisdom, justice, and temperance, even if we don't use those labels, while courage is something that's been, in many ways, commandeered by the kind of machismo found in movie action heroes. It's almost embarrassing to talk about courage. Even writing this, I worry that I'm coming off as boastful.

I'm not sharing this story here to encourage anyone else. In fact, I've already talked one neighbor out of purchasing a bat of her own and told others that I'd never do it again. I'm telling this story because I see how narrow our definition of courage has become. As the Ancients understood it, courage is that trait that's called for whenever we face uncertainty. It's not an absence of fear or doubt, but rather, an action in the face of fear and doubt. When a child climbs a tree, when they ask another child to play with them, when they attempt new things, they are being courageous. And each act of courage leads to another. That's where the magic is.

None of us are courageous, but rather we practice courage. It doesn't mean that we must all take up bats to chase away intruders, but rather that when we're faced with uncertainty our best bet is to swing as hard as we can. It might not always go to play, but the more we practice, as with all the virtues, the better we get at it. This is what our children are doing as they play together, practicing courage and discovering the genius, power, and magic it brings with it.

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Books have a way of transforming us unlike any other media out there. Be it fiction or non-fiction, a books has the power to fully immerse us into a world in way that makes us come out the other side a changed -- and better -- person. I've put together this list of 16 books that have done that for me. They are intentionally not early childhood books, although each one has, in one way or another, profoundly transformed my work with young children. Maybe you'll find a few new ones here that will do the same for you. To download the list, click here.

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