Little Eyes Are Watching: A Personal Lesson

A Championship Season and a Fifth-Grade Fan

In 1979, the Clintwood High School football team claimed its seventh straight Lonesome Pine District Championship. It would be their last outright title until 1987, though they did share the crown with Appalachia in 1984.


I was in fifth grade that fall, and I followed the Greenwave and its star players with the kind of devotion only a small-town kid can muster. As I’ve mentioned before, these hometown athletes were heroes to me—larger than life—and sports were the center of my world.

An Early Arrival and an Unforgettable Moment

I vividly remember something that happened prior to a game during that season. It was bright and sunny, so I originally wanted to say that it was a Saturday playoff game, but my brain is telling me that it was an early regular season game, when the sun was still setting later in the evening. Doesn't really matter! The lesson is the same. 

My buddies and I showed up at Ralph Cummins Stadium ridiculously early. We were actually the only ones there for a while, so we filled the empty space the way fifth-grade boys do—throwing a Nerf football, sprinting across the bleachers, and laughing until our sides hurt.

Eventually the stands began to fill. That’s when I noticed something I’ve never forgotten.

Across the field came two of my favorite players, Greg “Swede” Mullins and Kelly Vanover. They were carrying an older gentleman between them, each with one hand behind his back and the other under his leg, forming a kind of human chair. He rested his arms around their necks and looked completely at ease, trusting them without hesitation.

Back then, the home stands sat opposite where they would be in later years. Several concrete seats were built into the hill near field level, and that’s where the boys gently lifted the man into the front row. After helping him settle in, Kelly wrapped him in an affectionate hug, and the two players jogged back across the field, disappearing into the locker room—both dressed in their game jerseys, looking much smaller without the pads that amplified their size.

I didn’t know who the man was, but I knew I’d just witnessed something special. For that moment, football didn’t matter. What mattered was the kindness, respect, and love unfolding right in front of me.

A Chance Encounter Years Later

When I was about twenty, I crossed paths with Kelly. Even though I was grown, talking to someone who had seemed like a superhero in my childhood made my stomach spin like I was eleven years old again.

Once I found my words, I shared this memory with him. He grew quiet, staring off for several long seconds.

“That man was my grandfather,” he finally said. “He’s gone now. I hadn’t thought about that moment in a long time. Thank you for reminding me.”

The Example That Stuck With Me

As I wrote in a previous entry: Little eyes are watching. On that afternoon in 1979, mine were.

Thank you, Kelly and Swede, for showing a young kid that character matters. I’m grateful I had the chance to tell you that it made a difference.

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