The Best Teacher I Know

“Okay, here’s a free lesson for you…”

When I began officiating college football, former ACC referee Jeff Flanagan took me under his wing and taught me more than anyone else ever has. He invested countless hours in my development, and I’ll never be able to repay him for that generosity.

When Jeff teaches at a camp or clinic, young officials hang on his every word. He’s a pharmacist by trade, but would’ve made a phenomenal educator. His delivery is clear and engaging, and his Alabama drawl gives his words an easy sincerity.

Jeff often uses film clips of officiating errors to teach lessons—sometimes of others, sometimes of himself. Before every clip, he says the same thing:

“Okay, here’s a free lesson for you. I’m showing this for teaching purposes, not to be critical. I’ve provided plenty of free lessons for other officials, and they’ve given me a few too. It all evens out. We’re all here to learn."

Those words apply far beyond officiating—they’re a blueprint for how to handle life.

My Turn to Offer a Free Lesson

I’ve made my share of mistakes in both officiating and life, and one of those mistakes taught me a lesson I’ll never forget. It's about judging others too quickly, and how the Lord made sure I learned the hard way never to do it again.

I’m changing the name of the person in this story. We’ll call him Young Ref. He’s given me permission to share the story, but I don’t feel right using his real name.

The Cocky Freshman

Most people know about my years of officiating football, but not everyone realizes I also worked a lot of high school basketball back in the day—and even a few seasons of small-college games—before my knees cried uncle.

One of my high school assignments took me to a school deep in the coalfields, where I first met a cocky freshman point guard. He was a good-looking, tan, muscular kid—athletic, confident, and talented—but he had a terrible habit of whining. In his mind, he never committed a foul, but was always the victim of one. His dad was just as loud from the stands.

For four years, I called that kid’s games, and his attitude never changed. When his senior season finally ended, I was relieved to think I’d never see him again.

The Assistant Coach

The very next season, I showed up to officiate a game at his former high school and saw him sitting on the bench as an assistant coach. He was wearing a sharp navy suit and a diamond earring the size of a marble. 

I’m sure I rolled my eyes.

We shook hands before the game, exchanged a polite word or two, and that was that.
He quietly handled his bench duties, and then disappeared from my radar for several years.

Fast-forward to the winter of 2009. I had just finished my second year of officiating college football at the FCS level, but had sustained a painful knee injury near the end of the season. Surgery was scheduled for December, which meant I’d miss basketball season entirely.

But guess who did become a basketball official that year?

Yep—Young Ref.

The Game That Changed My Perspective

Jump ahead again to the winter of 2010. My knee had healed, and I was finally ready to get back on the court. My first assignment was a preseason tournament at the now defunct Appalachia High School. I was listed as crew chief, and when I saw who my two partners were for the game, my stomach dropped.

One of them was Young Ref.

I dreaded that pregame meeting, expecting arrogance, excuses, and chatter. Instead, he walked in humble, prepared, and eager to learn.

He knew the rules, understood mechanics, and asked thoughtful questions. 

During the game, he worked hard, listened well, and carried himself like a professional.

Afterward, our postgame discussion was honest and productive. He offered insightful feedback and took full ownership of his mistakes. I remember thinking, This can’t be the same kid.

Then came the moment that changed everything.

The Scar

As we wrapped up and prepared to hit the showers, Young Ref peeled off his shirt, revealing a long, vertical scar down the center of his chest. I couldn’t help asking...

“Open-heart surgery,” he said matter-of-factly. “Cancer in my chest cavity. Diagnosed my freshman year of high school.”

I was stunned. He told me about the chemo treatments, the sickness, the hair loss.
I remembered his spiky platinum-blonde hair during his sophomore season and admitted I’d thought it was just a style choice. He laughed and said, “Nope—just what grew back.”

Then he asked, “I heard your son’s adopted?”

“Yep,” I said. “Best thing that's ever happened to me.”

He nodded. “I’m adopted too. Thinking about meeting my birth parents, but my adopted parents are pretty upset about it. When your son asks one day, just listen to him and understand what he's feeling. Don't judge him."

Lesson Learned

I’ve thought about that night many times. I believe God put us together for a reason—to remind me of two simple truths:

  1. Don’t judge people. You have no idea what battles they’ve fought or what pain they carry.

  2. When my son starts seeking answers, I need to respond with understanding, not fear.

That “cocky kid” I once rolled my eyes at turned out to be one of the bravest young men I’ve ever met.

The Final Whistle

The next time you meet a young person who rubs you the wrong way, take a moment to look deeper.

Ask a question. 

Hear their story.

You might just discover a scar that humbles you—and a free lesson that changes your life.


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