Coach Smitty stood a little taller, and admitted, “I let our team talent outrun our team character. We can't help these kids win on the field or in life when that happens.”

Coach Washington agreed.

The locker room was still cold and it still smelled like sweat and dirty socks, but the air felt lighter—like they'd been at the back of a dark cave and were finally moving toward the promise of sunlight. It was the feeling of acknowledging there was a problem and deciding to move toward a solution.

“So, here we are. We have a broken locker room—our kids are hurting, our team is divided, and a wall of adversity as high as Mt. Everest stands between us and our goals. You got any ideas on how to turn this around, Coach Washington?” Coach Smitty tried to keep hope in his voice.

“Do I have any ideas?” Coach Washington repeated his friend's question, grinning. “Come with me.”

Coach Washington led Coach Smitty to the whiteboard on the wall of the locker room.

As Coach Washington erased the football plays off the whiteboard, Coach Smitty asked him, “How can you be so kind to me, Rod? I know we have a long history together but, if anything, I would think that would make my words and actions over the last couple of days even more hurtful, make you more resentful.”

“Growing up, there was a guy in my town who hated me and made my life hell.”

“Because of the color of your skin?”

Coach Washington gave Coach Smitty a long look. “Partially. But, it was also because I was poorer then he was, and put in with the kids with learning disabilities, so I made an easy target with few defenders. But this highlights an important point. If we're going to heal the hurts of this locker room, we can't make any assumptions when talking to our players.” Coach Washington let that important lesson sink in for a moment.

“He would call me horrible names. He would bully me, badger me, and go out of his way to get under my skin. I always just tried to ignore him and take the high road. Until one day, I finally snapped. I came home and he was on my front porch, yelling nasty, awful things through the window to my mother. When I heard him yelling those things at my mother, I just … I lost control.” Coach Washington looked at the ground, as if he saw the moment clear in his mind's eye.

Without looking up, Coach Washington continued. “With every punch I grew more and more angry. But then, this kid started whimpering. Like a puppy. And the rage just left me in a rush. I stood up and backed off. He looked at me like I was the devil himself, and then he took off running.

“I thought that returning hate for hate would make me feel better. That it would give me closure, or a sense of power. But all it really did was leave me empty.

“My mother came out then and she looked at me like I had been the one shouting at her. She was that disappointed in me. She said ‘An eye for an eye will leave the whole world blind.’ She'd been quoting that at me for years. But that was the first time I understood what she meant. I made a promise to myself that I would repay people's hate, hurts, and hang-ups with humility and grace.

“So, no, Smitty, I'm not angry with you and I'm not resentful. Besides, resentment does no good; it destroys you from the inside out. Like drinking poison and hoping the other person dies.”

“Thank you for sharing that, Rod. I … I never knew that story,” Coach Smitty confessed. “You are one special person, Roderick Washington.”

“Nah, Smitty. I'm just a ball coach trying to help another ball coach make a difference. You really want to understand this, right?”

“Of course I do. I'm not going to make the same mistake twice.” Coach Smitty pounded his fist into his other hand to punctuate his point.

Coach Washington turned to the whiteboard and wrote in all caps.