When my wife was a little girl, one of her most treasured possessions was a small handmade statue of Rupert the Bear — a classic British children’s character. A family friend had crafted him with painstaking detail: the jaunty red sweater, the bright yellow trousers, the warm, kind expression. For years, Rupert sat proudly in her childhood home, then in our early marital homes — always a cheerful companion to her early memories.
When we left England to move to California, she left Rupert behind, thinking he would be safe back in her family’s garden. He took up residence in a quiet corner, keeping silent watch over flowers and grass. But England’s weather is no gentle caretaker.
For 22 years, Rupert stood there, enduring rain, snow, wind and frost. His bright colors faded to pale shadows. The once-crisp details of his sweater and trousers chipped away, as if wondering when my wife might return.
Most people might have written him off — too worn by time and the elements to be worth saving. But not my wife. On a recent trip back to England, she decided Rupert’s story wasn’t over. She brought him back to California in her luggage, a slightly battered stowaway among clothes and souvenirs. Then, she set to work.
She cleared a space at the kitchen table, gathered brushes, paints and patience. First, she cleaned him thoroughly, scrubbing away decades of grime and moss. Then, with a careful eye, she began repainting — layer by layer — restoring the vibrant red, the sunshine yellow, and the gentle, loving smile.
Slowly, Rupert returned to life — not exactly as he had been, but perhaps even better, carrying the dignity of having weathered storms and found a new home far from where he was first created.
Watching her work, it struck me: What she had done for Rupert is what great leaders do for people.
In every organization, there are employees who have weathered their own storms. Maybe personal challenges have dimmed their focus. Maybe a previous leader undervalued them. Maybe a big organizational change left them sidelined. Or perhaps they’re older employees who’ve started believing their best contributions are behind them.
Like Rupert in the garden, they’ve been exposed to forces that wore down their energy and confidence. And just as my wife saw Rupert not as he was in his weather-beaten state, but as he could be again, a great leader sees beyond the current surface.
Reengaging such a person doesn’t happen with a quick pep talk or a generic training course. It starts with clearing away the debris — removing the weight of neglect, misunderstanding, or misalignment. Sometimes that means a genuine one-on-one conversation, where you listen without judgment, learn their story, and acknowledge the storms they’ve faced.
Then comes the repainting stage — reconnecting them with their purpose and value. This might mean giving them a project that draws on their deep expertise, asking them to mentor younger colleagues, or putting them in a role where their knowledge and experience are indispensable. It’s about showing them — through action — that they still matter now.
Just like Rupert, these employees don’t need replacing. They need restoring. The marks of the years are not flaws — they’re proof of resilience.
When my wife placed Rupert in our new garden at the home on the hill they call “Magic,” she didn’t just see a childhood toy. She saw years of joy, the craftsmanship of a family friend, and the grit of something that had weathered decades and still stood.
In the same way, when leaders truly look at their people, they see not just the present moment, but the rich story of who they’ve been — and who they can still become. This story reminded me that one of leadership’s most noble responsibilities is to reengage the heart, mind and spirit of someone who, for whatever reason, has been metaphorically left alone in the garden and felt uncared for.
Paul Butler is a Santa Clarita resident and a client partner with Newleaf Training and Development of Valencia (newleaftd.com). For questions or comments, email Butler at [email protected].
