The Symphony of Growth: How Mr. O’Connell Turned Flaws into Strengths

There are moments in our lives that seem small at the time but end up shaping how we view the world.

One such moment for me came when I was 12 years old, sitting in Mr. O’Connell’s English class.

He wasn’t just any teacher—he was a "maestro" in the classroom, guiding us through the complexities of grammar with passion and simplicity. He had this rare ability to make dry, difficult topics like grammar and sentence structure feel engaging and even fun. For a group of children with short attention spans like me, that was no small feat.

But there was one tiny thing that disrupted the flow of his engaging lessons. A small, seemingly harmless word: ehh.

You know that sound—that filler word people use when they’re thinking of what to say next, feeling nervous, or uncomfortable with the silence in conversations or lectures.

For Mr. O’Connell, it became a constant, a “crutch word” that he wasn’t even aware of. His lectures would start with, Ehh… children… ehh… today we will… ehh…

What should have been a symphony of knowledge was interrupted by these dissonant sounds. The ehhs were an ugly noise in my ears, breaking the flow of what could have been a masterpiece.

At first, it seemed like only I noticed, but then something unexpected happened. One day, after class, my friends and I started comparing how many ehhs we had counted. Every lesson had more than 100 of them. We began keeping track out of curiosity, and soon, it became a ritual—an unconscious distraction. Half my mind was focused on the lesson, and the other half was tallying the ehhs.

It wasn’t until one day, after class, that Mr. O’Connell called me aside. With concern in his eyes, he asked why I seemed distracted during his lessons. His question caught me off guard, and I hesitated. Should I tell him the truth? Finally, I decided to be honest. “Sir,” I said, “I listen to your lessons, but I’m also counting… your ‘ehhs.’”

I braced myself for disappointment or irritation, but instead, something remarkable happened. Mr. O’Connell smiled, genuinely surprised. “I had no idea I was doing that,” he said thoughtfully. “Does it distract you?” I nodded, feeling a little guilty, and told him that it wasn’t just me—all of us had been counting. He paused for a moment, then nodded again, this time with determination. “I need to fix this,” he said. “Thank you for telling me.”

The next day, something incredible happened. Mr. O’Connell walked into the class with a tape recorder. “I’m going to record myself,” he explained to me, “so I can hear what you hear.” For the next several weeks, he diligently recorded every lecture and listened to the playback, counting his own ehhs.

Slowly but surely, the number of ehhs began to drop and even other filler words too. His effort was visible to us, and week after week, his speeches became smoother. His lectures started to regain the symphony they were always meant to be, and the dissonance of the ehhs faded away. Eventually, they disappeared altogether.

It was more than just a teacher fixing a verbal tic; it was a masterclass in growth, self-awareness, and humbleness.

Mr. O’Connell wasn’t just teaching us English anymore—he was showing us the power of recognizing our flaws and working relentlessly to overcome them. It was awe-inspiring to watch, and it transformed not only his teaching but also how we viewed him as a mentor and role model.

What I witnessed in Mr. O’Connell was the essence of great communication—not in perfection, but in openness. He didn’t just receive feedback from a 12 year old; he embraced it with humility and gratitude. And that, to me, is what made him truly brilliant. His willingness to listen, to change, and to grow was the real lesson I learned that year.

Today, as I reflect on that moment, I realize that it was my first real experience with public speaking coaching—offering feedback, watching someone embrace it, and seeing the transformation that followed. But even more profound was what Mr. O’Connell taught me about the nature of communication. The ehhs were never just a distraction—they were a doorway to growth.

Crutch words like "ehh, mm, you know what I mean, and other unnecessary repetitions" are more than just fillers—they break the flow of communication and distract the listener. But when we become aware of them, we can turn those cracks into something stronger.

Mr. O'Connell taught me that even the smallest flaw, when recognized, can lead to profound change. Here are five key insights I’ve carried with me ever since:

1. Silence is Powerful: One of the most effective ways to eliminate crutch words is by embracing silence. Pausing allows you to gather your thoughts and deliver a more impactful message that people can fully digest. Silence adds weight to your words and removes the need for fillers.?
2. Self-Awareness leads to positive transformation: Like Mr. O’Connell with his tape recorder, becoming aware of your speech habits is the first step to mastery. Record yourself, listen back, and pay attention to how often you use crutch words.
3. Feedback is a Gift: Mr. O’Connell didn’t just accept feedback—he welcomed it. Feedback from others, no matter how small or unexpected, is a powerful tool for growth. Be open to it, and use it as fuel to improve.
4. Engage with Your Audience: Eye contact, intentional pauses, and connecting with the people in front of you create a presence that demands attention. When you’re fully engaged with your audience, crutch words naturally disappear.
5. Practice Makes Progress: Just as Mr. O’Connell worked tirelessly to fix his ehhs, remember that mastery takes time. Consistent effort will eventually lead to effortless communication.

For me, this chapter of my life marked a milestone in my journey understanding the art of communication. I came to realize that we all have our own filler words—those unconscious habits that disrupt the flow of our conversations.

However, the true brilliance of communication isn’t in never making mistakes—it’s in recognizing where we can improve and having the courage to refine ourselves with continuous small steps.

Mr. O’Connell’s ehhs were never just a flaw; they were the beginning of something much greater—a transformation that revealed the power of vulnerability as the catalyst for growth.

#powerfulcommunication #ArtOfCommunication #CommunicationSkills #GrowthMindset #PersonalGrowth #EffectiveCommunication #ListenAndReflect #VulnerabilityIsStrength #TransformativeGrowth #Inspiration #Motivation #LifeLessons #SelfImprovement