Inspire self-respect

Jeff Nelligan • March 18, 2024

"Don't ever be like that jackass."

I once saw a kid leave a football field with his Mom hold- ing his helmet, his Dad

holding his big equipment bag and the kid, walking ten feet ahead of them, was

texting furiously on a cell phone. My middle boy had just played in the same game

and all four Nelligans were ambling back to the parking lot. I stopped them and

said “Wait up, guys. Check out that scene,” and nodded at zombie screen-boy and

the two Sherpa parents. I pointed defiantly at the kid and said, “Don’t ever be like

that jackass.” Yes, Dad bringing it in hot. But my boys – and several chuckling

parents and kids within earshot – knew exactly what I meant. Mom and Dad are

humping his gear behind him while he’s buried in his phone. He can’t even be

bothered. Total and complete jackass.

In two decades of being around kids I’ve concluded - perhaps unscientifically –

that there are two basic versions of the jackass child.

First, there’s the aforementioned – rude, self-absorbed, selfish. He or she barely

acknowledges adults, including their own parents, in social situations and often

uses monosyllabic answers when spoken to. She or he is always the critic and

downer among friends, everything is stupid or boring. He or she is constantly

staring at, talking into, or pounding the screen of a phone. This kind of kid reeks of

resentment – and it’s found in all socioeconomic strata - the privileged, the middle

class, the hardscrabble.

The second kind of jackass is wildly undisciplined, always disobedient, the one

who simply will not follow basic directions. This child has “no boundaries” in the

fashionable phrase. They talk when they shouldn’t and ignore rules and can be

counted upon to disrupt every situation.

I know this kind of kid well. I was a rec league basketball coach for one of my

son’s teams and for a very short time we had such a kid on the squad. Let’s call

him Mark. At the first practice he immediately began interrupting me and my

assistant coach, another Dad. Mark then split away from the opening lay-up drills,

running to the other end of the court with one of the balls.

Throughout the rest of the practice he was shoving kids on the court in mad dashes to grab the ball and

would shoot the ball whenever he got it – sometimes from 25 feet. When

admonished, he’d just grin and giggle. (And I’ll say it right here: No, he wasn’t a

kid with Asperger’s Syndrome nor did he have ADHD nor did he take medication

for anything. The parents of boys joining the league were required to disclose all

that).

Simply, Mark was just a major-league brat and half of the first practice was spent

reacting to his misconduct. My assistant coach and I were frustrated beyond

measure. After a second practice featuring his mayhem, I’d had enough. I went

over to Mark’s Dad. “Hey Pat, sorry about this but Mark’s going to have to find

another team.” Pat smiled conspiratorially as if this was all a little game and would

just go away. Then he said, “I know he can be mischievous at times. And after all,

this is just a rec league.” “Yeah,” I responded, “A rec league, not a babysit- ting

league.”

Of course, the guy flashes hot. He knows his kid is out of control. “Mischievous”

is probably the stock term he uses all the time when the kid is called out. I’m not

giving him a news flash. But it’s obvious there have never been repercussions – no

one has ever pushed back. I do and I reiterate: “Mark is off the team.” Pat looks at

me and my grim assistant and says, “But you can’t do this!” “I just did” I reply.

“He’s dragging down our eleven other kids who want to learn and play the game.

Don’t bring him back.”

A few months later I was at the same son’s school volunteering for a student

assembly. A group of parents and I were in the building’s main corridor and all the

kids were lined up in the hallways outside their classrooms, waiting to walk to the

auditorium. I saw my son in one of the lines and gave him a wink. Suddenly,

running through the foyer comes our pal Mark; a teacher’s voice echoes “Stop

right now!”

The kid pays no heed and continues out of sight down another hallway. The

parents standing with me are shocked; they obviously don’t know the kid. I look

back at my son in line and lock eyes with him. I point to where Mark has

disappeared and I slowly mouth the words: Don’t. Ever. Be. My kid doesn’t even

grin. He just nods.

There are plenty of jackass kids in the world. They are bullies or sneaks who egg

on other kids to do something patently wrong. They are the boys who are overtly

creepy to girls and girls who are uncommonly mean to other girls. They’re foul-

mouthed and rude. Their behavior stymies teachers, peers, coaches, their parents.

I’ve seen more than enough Marks and every time I did my sons heard the phrase

above, loud and clear. Even better, they were not afraid to use it when they saw

obvious jerks. All four of us judged the bad and we always knew why we were

doing so.

And always – because remember, the real world never fails to instruct - there is the

bonus-round. That’s when the jackass kid, in full view of spectators, has a cringe-

worthy episode involving abject rudeness to a parent or even better, a full-blown

argument. Sure, it’s excruciating to witness but counter-intuitively, it’s just the

spectacle your kid needs to see.

Once after my eldest and I witnessed a public kid- driven blow-up with his father,

my son said sorrowfully, “Man, I feel bad for that dad.” “I don’t,” I responded.

“He could have stopped that jive a long time ago and didn’t. This is what he

deserves.” My son looked at me sharply and a moment later said, “I get it.”

Sometimes to my sons’ glee, sometimes to their dis- comfort I was always faithful

in identifying that one kid who represents everything wrong. “Don’t ever be that

jackass.” When you see it, say it and your won't.

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Written by a good-natured but unyielding father, this slim volume describes how his off-beat and yet powerful forms of encouragement helped his sons obtain the assurance, strength and integrity needed to achieve personal success and satisfaction. This book isn't 300 pages of pop child psychology or a fatherhood "journey" filled with jargon and equivocation. It's tough and hard and fast. It’s about how three boys made their way to the U.S. Naval Academy, Williams, and West Point – and beyond.

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Flag duty and the end of 30 years in politics

By Jeff Nelligan • January 29, 2026

It's 8:30 a.m. on a humid August Tuesday and I’m on the roof of the U.S. Capitol, the Dome rising 280 feet directly above. In my arms is a stack of thin boxes and I’m navigating a plywood gangplank leading to a rusted 15-foot flagpole. A colleague joins me carrying more boxes. She opens one and hands me a 2’ by 4’ American flag which I affix to the pole’s lanyard, raise and lower quickly, unfasten and hand to her as she hands me another. A third colleague brings out more boxes and retrieves the ones containing flown flags. This little dance continues for three straight hours. Afterwards, my colleagues and I carefully re-fold each flag and affix to it a “Certificate of Authenticity from the Architect of the Capitol” reading “This flag was flown over the U.S. Capitol in honor of____” and fill in the blank: “The Greater Bakersfield, California Chamber of Commerce”…the 80 th birthday of Wilbert Robinson of Bowie, Maryland, proud veteran of the Vietnam War…” We will perform this task for five days a week until Congress returns from recess. This is my very first job in Washington, D.C. and obviously, I have what it takes. *** Flag duty began my 32-year run in politics and government, which ended last week. It included four tours of duty on Capitol Hill working for three Members of Congress, two Presidential appointments serving Cabinet officers in the Departments of State and Health and Human Services, posts at two independent agencies, and a career position at FDA. The jobs were a mix of purely political positions where being on the south side of an election meant cleaning out your desk and getting good at catchy LinkedIn posts – twice that happened - and career federal government stints where the stakes were less exhilarating. *** I worked principally as press secretary and special assistant. The former job, a common D.C. occupation, was transformed in 2008 with the onset of social media, morphing from daily pronouncements of your boss’s wisdom on the issues of the day to rapid-fire postings on the obvious unreasonableness, even cruelties of your opponents. Sound familiar? As for the latter occupational specialty, special assistant, the terms ‘bagman’ or ‘fixer’ are more apt: A guy always two steps behind the principal but always ready to step up and fix whatever problem arose in daily political life. Need a special vegan lunch for Congressman Busybody, White House tour tickets for the Big Bad High volleyball team, or the personal phone number of the executive assistant to a heavy-duty lobbyist? I was your guy. Every leader needs a fixer. Like anyone else who works in D.C., I occasionally participated in a glam political moment – you know, that unique, epic event that would never ever be forgotten in D.C. history Until it was. *** The best part about government life was working for many men and women who were at the top of their game in the D.C. Swamp, one of the toughest arenas on the planet. Their success, from the vantage point of your humble correspondent, was attributable to four simple rules of life. “If you can’t measure it, it didn’t happen.” Every office I was in kept metrics on virtually every aspect of the principal’s week – how many meetings and events attended, X posts, interviews, committee votes, constituent letters, action items completed from memos?! Numbers, numbers, and always keeping score – and always the quest to improve. “Never lose it.” In a lifetime of political jobs, I may have heard a boss raise her or his voice half a dozen times, even during and after major-league setbacks. Self-control was their hallmark. One boss, a powerful House Committee chairman once confided to me, “I’m fine that 80 precent of my job is humoring these guys, no matter how crazy they get.” An equally valuable corollary skill: Humility. The ability of these individuals to admit to colleagues and staff when wrong on a particular issue. Which counterintuitively only upped their long-term credibility. “Something’s always gonna go south.” Always the need for a plan C. Every initiative during an upcoming day was scoured for what elements would interfere and how, if they occurred, they could be ameliorated. Hence, in the rare times when things did go south, there was always preparation in advance for getting to 80 percent of what was needed. “Good is not good enough.” Successful politicians and government leaders – and their staffs – never get complacent. If they do, they’re not long for the Swamp. Everyone is always hustling for the edge. A useful corollary learned from an NCO when I was in the Army: Always have your hand up. Volunteering is at the heart of the hustle, the cheerful willingness to take on the new and unknown and do whatever it takes. *** And that’s how it all started. On the second day of my first congressional tour the Member solicited volunteers “for a fun recess job that’ll get you out of the office.” It was flag duty and from that day onwards my government career could only go up. *****