I've got a friend who is a lion tamer. He used to be a school

Les Dawson, master of wit whose humor carried truth beneath its laughter, once jested: “I’ve got a friend who is a lion tamer. He used to be a school teacher till he lost his nerve.” At first hearing, the words seem a mere joke, a play upon the absurd. But listen closely, and you will find a hidden wisdom: that teaching itself is a form of lion-taming, that classrooms roar as loudly as cages, and that to stand before young minds is to face creatures as fierce as any beast of claw and fang.

The origin of this humor lies in the timeless struggle of those who guide the young. Dawson, himself no stranger to the trials of ordinary life, saw the classroom as a stage upon which courage is tested daily. For the teacher must not only impart knowledge, but wrestle with restlessness, with indifference, with rebellion. Like the lion tamer, who enters the ring armed only with a whip and a chair, the teacher stands before the living storm of youth, seeking not to destroy, but to command respect, to guide wild energy into discipline and purpose.

Consider the story of Anne Sullivan, the steadfast guide of Helen Keller. Though not a lion in flesh, Keller was a tempest in spirit — frustrated, trapped by silence and blindness, her anger fierce and unyielding. Many before Sullivan had failed, recoiling in despair. But Sullivan entered the cage with patience and persistence, taming not with chains, but with love and relentless discipline. In time, Helen was not only calmed, but transformed into one of history’s brightest voices. This is Dawson’s jest made truth: the courage demanded of a teacher may indeed rival that of the lion tamer.

The nerve required is not merely physical, but moral and emotional. To teach is to risk rejection, to endure mockery, to face each day with the possibility of failure. Yet those who persevere shape destinies. Recall Socrates, wandering the streets of Athens, questioned and ridiculed by the youth he tried to guide. He too was a lion tamer, and though his city condemned him, his teachings outlived empires. He lost his life, but never his nerve. His courage still roars across the centuries.

In Dawson’s humor lies also a warning. For when the teacher loses his nerve, the classroom descends into chaos, learning withers, and young spirits scatter. To lose one’s nerve in the arena of teaching is not mere weakness; it is to abandon the task of shaping the future. It is a reminder to us all: courage must be renewed daily, for the lions return each morning, roaring with hunger and will.

The lesson, then, is profound: do not underestimate the calling of the teacher. To the world it may seem humble, but in truth it demands valor. Parents, mentors, and leaders alike must recognize that taming the wildness of youth is no lesser work than taming beasts of the jungle. Honor those who face this task, and if you are called to it, steel your heart with patience, courage, and love.

What must we do? First, respect the teachers around us, for they walk daily into the lion’s den. Second, if we ourselves must teach — whether in classrooms, in families, or in life — let us not shrink back when the roars grow loud. Stand firm, not with cruelty, but with steadfastness, with wit, with compassion. And third, learn to laugh, as Dawson did, at the ferocity of the task. For humor itself is a shield, reminding us that even lions may be tamed by a steady spirit.

So let Les Dawson’s jest echo in our hearts: “A friend who is a lion tamer was once a school teacher till he lost his nerve.” Behind the laughter lies truth: the courage to guide others is no small feat. May we never lose our nerve, but instead enter life’s arena with humor, with strength, and with a heart unafraid of the roaring crowd.