For a long time I have been wanting to write about Tyshaun, but I haven’t been able to figure out how to do it. I have been his teacher for thirteen months of school now, and we have a tumultuous relationship. He is one of the main reasons I decided to loop up to second grade with my class this year, because he is a student with a lot of sweetness hidden under a tough exterior, and because he is very, very vulnerable to many things that entice him now, but could hurt him in the long run. The idea of letting him go at the end of last year, of putting him into the hands of a new (though very competent) teacher, was too much for me to stomach.
Here is an introduction to Tyshaun, who is much more complicated than I’ll probably ever be able to show.
Tyshaun approaches most new people, and most transitions, with a growl and a scowl. When learning specialists come to work with him, his face darkens with displeasure and he frowns deeply, slamming a folder on the table. It can challenge even the most seasoned of educators to be greeted like this, day after day, and still treat him positively and optimistically.
When he comes in the room each morning, I greet him with a cheerful “good morning,” and I have no idea what response I’ll get. He may smile shyly and come over to tell me something exciting he made or discovered in the before-school program; he may ignore me as he stomps across the classroom to his desk; or he may answer me as if I were the last person on earth he wants to talk to.
Tyshaun is often oppositional and sneaky, and has a hard time not taking things that he wants, even if they belong to other people. He has difficulty with expressive and receptive language, word retrieval, and processing information; reading and writing are very hard for him, and he needs a lot of help with math too. He is tall for his grade (because he repeated first grade) and walks more like a tough teenager than a second grader. There is a vulnerable little boy inside him, who he keeps tightly under wraps nearly all of the time.
There is nothing Tyshaun wants more than to please the people around him. Give him an order, and he will openly defy you; motivate him with positive feedback and he will rise to your highest expectations. Talk to him like he is a child, and he will be unyielding before your demands; consult with him as if he were an adult and he will respond with maturity and thoughtfulness. Part of the reason I like him so much is the challenge of figuring out how to approach him, and the amusement and pleasure I get out of seeing how easy it can be to get him to do the right thing once you figure out the secret to relating to him. You have to work for it with Tyshaun.
One small example from last year: we wanted to get Tyshaun to meet with the school therapist, a white woman. (The poor guy is surrounded by white women. What I wouldn’t give for a black male therapist.) I knew he would be reluctant and possibly hostile toward her; I also knew he would end up loving his one-on-one time with her, and that it would be really, really good for him.
She came by one afternoon to check in with me about a time that would be good to meet with him. I decided that the more autonomy I gave him in this decision, the better.
I introduced the two of them, and told him, “Tyshaun, Ms. Larson’s job is to talk to kids about how they are feeling and help them figure out what to do when they don’t feel so good. I know you’ve been talking to me about how you haven’t been feeling that good sometimes lately, and I thought you might like to meet with her. What do you think about that – does it seem like a good idea to you?”
He thought about it for a minute and then nodded quickly, carefully veiling his enthusiasm.
“Great!” Ms. Larson said. “When would be a good time for me to come get Tyshaun?”
“One day at lunch might be good,” I answered. “Tyshaun, how would Thursday at lunchtime be for you?” I knew that Thursday lunchtime was the time Ms. Larson had available for him, but I wanted him to feel like he had some choice in the matter.
“Um, how about Wednesday?” he asked. “Wednesday would be better for me.”
I smiled inside. Tyshaun’s Wednesdays were indistinguishable from his Thursdays; he was letting me know that giving him some say in when he would like to meet with her had been the right thing to do – he wanted influence over what happened in his day.
“Unfortunately, I’m not here on Wednesdays,” Ms. Larson answered.
“Oh, that’s too bad!” I said. “Tyshaun, since she’s not here on Wednesdays, do you think you could do it on Thursday?”
He nodded. He had been consulted, we had let him know his opinion mattered to us, and as long as he felt that regard, he would be flexible and open to trying this new thing out. That’s the secret to Tyshaun – if you can just approach him in the right way, you can move mountains, but it’s often easier said than done.
Showing posts with label motivation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label motivation. Show all posts
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
One thing I learned about teenagers
... is that the speed with which they accomplish something is directly proportional to their level of investment or motivation in the task. After watching them "hike" at a pace so slow I had to take a step and then pause, shifting my weight from one foot to the other before taking the next step, I wrongly assumed that this was the speed at which they were capable of inching up an incline with a great deal of weight on their backs. Imagine my surprise when, at other times during the same trip (sometimes even on the same day), they moved up similar slopes so quickly that I had to nearly jog to keep up!
Now, perhaps this is not as unique to teenagers as I think it is. I imagine we all accomplish tasks at varying paces according to our motivation. I guess I have observed a similar phenomenon among first graders but, in general, first graders are often excited about many things, while a pivotal creed of adolescence seems to be that one should rarely display enthusiasm for those things suggested or mandated by adults. It is pretty easy, on the other hand, to find ways to make almost anything exciting to small children. (It has been suggested that the way I inspire my students to action, sometimes through dramatic and/or emotionally-charged means, is a form of manipulation, but I prefer to think of it as creative influence.)
So I learned the importance of finding motivation for our group of 8 to get things done, whether it was a 7-mile backpack over 4 peaks, a particularly long paddle, the straining of the dishwater, or the cooking of a meal. Internal motivation (what good teachers strive for -- we want children to learn, and to do the right thing, because they want to, not because they will earn a reward), as with first graders, was not always enough to keep this group moving. And the differences in their speeds -- their ability, as a group, to move either as if their feet were stuck in molasses or as if they were being pushed by a small, motorized vehicle -- were particularly dramatic, making the necessity for the right motivation even more essential. Sometimes the promise of good views, or a swim in a waterfall, were enough. Often the reminder that the farther we got today, the less distance we would have to cover tomorrow, had great power, especially when partnered with a promise that they could sleep in past 6:30 the next morning. S'mores, or other desserts such as no-bake cookies or brownies, could move mountains. I used M&Ms with some success on a particularly hard day.
To be fair, though, this group of 8 teens, between the ages of 13 and 15, worked very hard. We had some tough days, tough for the instructors, let alone for kids unaccustomed to carrying forty percent of their bodyweight on their backs and the accompanying rigors of life in the backcountry. Not knowing where you will sleep tonight, even as the afternoon begins to wane, even as you are already exhausted from hours upon hours of paddling, would cause despair, frustration, and certainly a great deal of crankiness among even the most stalwart of souls. And as a group, they often impressed me the most when the going was the toughest. (And frustrated me the most during the most mundane of tasks, such as tidying our camp or getting moving in the morning.)
It was after a particularly grueling day of paddling, followed by a three-mile portage that had to be done by first carrying packs, then hiking back, then carrying canoes (turning 3 miles into 9), that they all amazed me with their perseverance and humor in the face of adversity. As we stood in the pouring rain eating dry bagels with peanut butter for dinner, our raingear adhering to our skin with sweat, they willingly participated in a physical, mental, and spiritual check-in before heading for shelter. (The simple act of willing participation in such a check-in is, in and of itself, no small feat.) And despite the exhaustion and frustrations of the day, when I feared they might revolt because their wilderness trip was starting to look more like boot camp than summer camp, they shared insights that were reflective, humorous, and as optimistic as the situation warranted.
Our student Jake, one of the strongest of the group, said that he was wishing he felt connected to nature and glad to be in the wilderness right now, but that mostly he was feeling wet and tired. "I feel like I can keep going and do more," he confided, "but then I try and I keep getting tired out. My muscles are tiring more and more quickly and I just can't do more." Angelique, the quietest and, seemingly, least physically able of the group, said that despite the hard day, she felt happy because she loved the rain. And Chad, darling Chad, who kept all of us in stitches throughout the trip with the way he could make a play on words that brought tears to your eyes, mused, "Physically, I'm kind of tired, and mentally I'm kind of tired, but spiritually I'm feeling pretty good right now. When you do stuff that's hard like this, you learn a lot about yourself, you know." Finally, Kris, our tough girl from Boston who was on the trip against her will, spoke up and observed that we, as a group, never lost our sense of humor, even when things were really bad. "And I figure," she said, "if you don't have your sense of humor, you don't have anything." This last should probably be added as one of the most important rules of wilderness survival.
Now, perhaps this is not as unique to teenagers as I think it is. I imagine we all accomplish tasks at varying paces according to our motivation. I guess I have observed a similar phenomenon among first graders but, in general, first graders are often excited about many things, while a pivotal creed of adolescence seems to be that one should rarely display enthusiasm for those things suggested or mandated by adults. It is pretty easy, on the other hand, to find ways to make almost anything exciting to small children. (It has been suggested that the way I inspire my students to action, sometimes through dramatic and/or emotionally-charged means, is a form of manipulation, but I prefer to think of it as creative influence.)
So I learned the importance of finding motivation for our group of 8 to get things done, whether it was a 7-mile backpack over 4 peaks, a particularly long paddle, the straining of the dishwater, or the cooking of a meal. Internal motivation (what good teachers strive for -- we want children to learn, and to do the right thing, because they want to, not because they will earn a reward), as with first graders, was not always enough to keep this group moving. And the differences in their speeds -- their ability, as a group, to move either as if their feet were stuck in molasses or as if they were being pushed by a small, motorized vehicle -- were particularly dramatic, making the necessity for the right motivation even more essential. Sometimes the promise of good views, or a swim in a waterfall, were enough. Often the reminder that the farther we got today, the less distance we would have to cover tomorrow, had great power, especially when partnered with a promise that they could sleep in past 6:30 the next morning. S'mores, or other desserts such as no-bake cookies or brownies, could move mountains. I used M&Ms with some success on a particularly hard day.
To be fair, though, this group of 8 teens, between the ages of 13 and 15, worked very hard. We had some tough days, tough for the instructors, let alone for kids unaccustomed to carrying forty percent of their bodyweight on their backs and the accompanying rigors of life in the backcountry. Not knowing where you will sleep tonight, even as the afternoon begins to wane, even as you are already exhausted from hours upon hours of paddling, would cause despair, frustration, and certainly a great deal of crankiness among even the most stalwart of souls. And as a group, they often impressed me the most when the going was the toughest. (And frustrated me the most during the most mundane of tasks, such as tidying our camp or getting moving in the morning.)
It was after a particularly grueling day of paddling, followed by a three-mile portage that had to be done by first carrying packs, then hiking back, then carrying canoes (turning 3 miles into 9), that they all amazed me with their perseverance and humor in the face of adversity. As we stood in the pouring rain eating dry bagels with peanut butter for dinner, our raingear adhering to our skin with sweat, they willingly participated in a physical, mental, and spiritual check-in before heading for shelter. (The simple act of willing participation in such a check-in is, in and of itself, no small feat.) And despite the exhaustion and frustrations of the day, when I feared they might revolt because their wilderness trip was starting to look more like boot camp than summer camp, they shared insights that were reflective, humorous, and as optimistic as the situation warranted.
Our student Jake, one of the strongest of the group, said that he was wishing he felt connected to nature and glad to be in the wilderness right now, but that mostly he was feeling wet and tired. "I feel like I can keep going and do more," he confided, "but then I try and I keep getting tired out. My muscles are tiring more and more quickly and I just can't do more." Angelique, the quietest and, seemingly, least physically able of the group, said that despite the hard day, she felt happy because she loved the rain. And Chad, darling Chad, who kept all of us in stitches throughout the trip with the way he could make a play on words that brought tears to your eyes, mused, "Physically, I'm kind of tired, and mentally I'm kind of tired, but spiritually I'm feeling pretty good right now. When you do stuff that's hard like this, you learn a lot about yourself, you know." Finally, Kris, our tough girl from Boston who was on the trip against her will, spoke up and observed that we, as a group, never lost our sense of humor, even when things were really bad. "And I figure," she said, "if you don't have your sense of humor, you don't have anything." This last should probably be added as one of the most important rules of wilderness survival.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)