Last week, my student Javier was having a bad day. All morning, he wandered around the classroom, muttering under his breath, refusing to do what I asked. As a result, he ended up eating lunch alone in the classroom with me.
I sent his mom an email to let her know how his morning had been. I tried to ask him what was up, but he wouldn't tell me -- he just acted pissed. His mom wrote back and said, "If you have a chance, call me so I can talk to him."
Since we were alone at lunchtime, I called her and put him on. As I puttered around the classroom, he talked.
He put the phone to ear and said, "Hi, mom."
After listening for a second, he explained, "I didn't get enough sleep last night, so I'm really tired."
Another moment of listening, then: "Yes, but I was feeling frustrated."
As she answered, the mouthpiece of my cellphone dangled closer to his eyes than to his mouth.
"I don't feel like talking to you about that right now," he said in a low voice.
Another quiet moment.
"Yes, I understand what you're saying." His voice was calm and resigned.
I was amazed. I had never heard him talk this way before -- so measured, so clear, so self-aware.
"Javier," I said to him. "All morning you've been letting me know that you're having a hard day. You've been letting me know by not doing your work, by not following directions, and by stomping around the room. But I just heard you talk to your mom in a clearer, more mature way than most grown-ups know how to communicate. Now if you could just talk to me that way when you're having a bad day, we could figure out how to help make your day better."
So far, he hasn't been able to talk to me this way. But I know he has it in him.
Showing posts with label oppositional behavior. Show all posts
Showing posts with label oppositional behavior. Show all posts
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Friday, November 28, 2008
Trying again
This may sound strange, but I sometimes feel like Tyshaun and I relate to each other in very traditional male-female ways. I tell him how he makes me feel when he is unapproachable and try to get him to express how he is feeling; on a good day, he begrudges me a monosyllabic response through which, for a second, I catch a glimpse of his interior emotional landscape, and I feel rewarded and pleased with this minimal success.
After he took something from my desk, and treated me with hostility because of how embarrassed he felt, I wrote him a note. I thought a lot about why he might be acting so terribly after stealing from me, and made some good guesses about how he was feeling. I told him that I still cared about him even when I was disappointed in him – that we were still “tight,” and nothing was going to change that. I told him that just because he made a mistake didn’t mean that he was a bad kid, so he didn’t have to act like a bad kid. It was half a page long, and it was a really nice note.
Tyshaun read it, grabbed a pencil, and scrawled “OK” in the margin. Yep – I poured my heart out in an effort to help him feel better, and he gave me a one-word answer.
I felt good about it anyway.
The way Tyshaun enters the classroom in the morning affects my day a lot. I notice that I wait for him to arrive with anticipation, because I can tell a lot about how his day is likely to go just by his body language when he comes through the door. When it’s a bad entry, I can feel my heart rate quicken, because I know it could be a rough day.
The other day he came in.
“Good morning, Tyshaun,” I said. He ignored me.
“What kind of milk do you want with your lunch today?” I asked. He ignored me and kept laughing and joking with some boys by the door. I could feel my irritation building.
“You all need to come in now!” I said sharply. “Tyshaun, this is the second time I am asking you what kind of milk you want with your lunch!” My voice became shriller as I spoke.
“God!” he snarled between his teeth. “I’m just coming in. God! Leave me alone. Chocolate milk.”
I hate starting the day like this. And I had decided a few days earlier that I had to set stricter limits about him talking to me disrespectfully.
“You cannot speak to me like that,” I said. “I told you that if you talk to me like that, you can’t stay in our classroom. Come on. I’m taking you upstairs to Ms. Cruz’s room.” Our agreement was that if he was rude to an adult, he took his work upstairs to a fourth-grade classroom for about half an hour. He hates not being in our room, with us.
“No!” he answered. “I don’t want to go.” He didn’t move toward the door. “I’m staying here.”
“Tyshaun, I told you you can’t talk to me like that. It is not okay to start the day out like this. Let’s go. You can come back in half an hour and try again.”
His tone softened as he saw that I was serious, and he tried to figure out what might work with me. (He probably works just as hard to figure me out as I work to figure him out.)
“But you made me mad because you talked to me like that when I came in,” he tried to explain. “Can we try again?” I couldn’t help but smile. I am always amazed when I hear my students use my words, when what they say sounds just like me.
“I’m sorry I talked to you like that,” I said gently, taking a deep breath. “But you hurt my feelings when came in the room and ignored me. I don’t want the day to start like that.”
“Sorry,” he muttered. And we agreed to try again. I asked him what kind of milk he wanted, he responded in a somewhat pleasant tone of voice, and the rest of the day went smoothly.
It is generally not considered good teaching practice to announce a consequence and then let a student talk you out of it. I gave in for several reasons. One, I had spoken to him sharply, partly because I was stressed about other things, and him coming in like that pissed me off. Two, he used a good strategy to deal with me – he told me how I made him feel, and he suggested we try again. I have to admit it, I’m a sucker for kids who use the strategies I teach them. And three, I knew that if we could manage to re-start the day, there was a good chance the whole day would go well. Whereas, if he started his day by spending 30 minutes in the fourth grade, his day might be a wash. And every good day at school is money in the bank for Tyshaun.
After he took something from my desk, and treated me with hostility because of how embarrassed he felt, I wrote him a note. I thought a lot about why he might be acting so terribly after stealing from me, and made some good guesses about how he was feeling. I told him that I still cared about him even when I was disappointed in him – that we were still “tight,” and nothing was going to change that. I told him that just because he made a mistake didn’t mean that he was a bad kid, so he didn’t have to act like a bad kid. It was half a page long, and it was a really nice note.
Tyshaun read it, grabbed a pencil, and scrawled “OK” in the margin. Yep – I poured my heart out in an effort to help him feel better, and he gave me a one-word answer.
I felt good about it anyway.
The way Tyshaun enters the classroom in the morning affects my day a lot. I notice that I wait for him to arrive with anticipation, because I can tell a lot about how his day is likely to go just by his body language when he comes through the door. When it’s a bad entry, I can feel my heart rate quicken, because I know it could be a rough day.
The other day he came in.
“Good morning, Tyshaun,” I said. He ignored me.
“What kind of milk do you want with your lunch today?” I asked. He ignored me and kept laughing and joking with some boys by the door. I could feel my irritation building.
“You all need to come in now!” I said sharply. “Tyshaun, this is the second time I am asking you what kind of milk you want with your lunch!” My voice became shriller as I spoke.
“God!” he snarled between his teeth. “I’m just coming in. God! Leave me alone. Chocolate milk.”
I hate starting the day like this. And I had decided a few days earlier that I had to set stricter limits about him talking to me disrespectfully.
“You cannot speak to me like that,” I said. “I told you that if you talk to me like that, you can’t stay in our classroom. Come on. I’m taking you upstairs to Ms. Cruz’s room.” Our agreement was that if he was rude to an adult, he took his work upstairs to a fourth-grade classroom for about half an hour. He hates not being in our room, with us.
“No!” he answered. “I don’t want to go.” He didn’t move toward the door. “I’m staying here.”
“Tyshaun, I told you you can’t talk to me like that. It is not okay to start the day out like this. Let’s go. You can come back in half an hour and try again.”
His tone softened as he saw that I was serious, and he tried to figure out what might work with me. (He probably works just as hard to figure me out as I work to figure him out.)
“But you made me mad because you talked to me like that when I came in,” he tried to explain. “Can we try again?” I couldn’t help but smile. I am always amazed when I hear my students use my words, when what they say sounds just like me.
“I’m sorry I talked to you like that,” I said gently, taking a deep breath. “But you hurt my feelings when came in the room and ignored me. I don’t want the day to start like that.”
“Sorry,” he muttered. And we agreed to try again. I asked him what kind of milk he wanted, he responded in a somewhat pleasant tone of voice, and the rest of the day went smoothly.
It is generally not considered good teaching practice to announce a consequence and then let a student talk you out of it. I gave in for several reasons. One, I had spoken to him sharply, partly because I was stressed about other things, and him coming in like that pissed me off. Two, he used a good strategy to deal with me – he told me how I made him feel, and he suggested we try again. I have to admit it, I’m a sucker for kids who use the strategies I teach them. And three, I knew that if we could manage to re-start the day, there was a good chance the whole day would go well. Whereas, if he started his day by spending 30 minutes in the fourth grade, his day might be a wash. And every good day at school is money in the bank for Tyshaun.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
How to win friends and influence second graders
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.
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.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Overheard in the dressing room
I was in the dressing room at a well-known outdoor retailer. (I don't endorse said retailer. Instead I endorse, in a completely non-biased way, another well-known outdoor retailer.)
From the adjacent dressing room came the following exclamations.
"Marco, no! Marco, stop! Marco, stay here! Marco! I mean it!"
No response from Marco, except the opening and closing of the dressing room door. He had clearly decided that silent opposition was more effective than conversation.
I also left my dressing room, and ran into Marco standing by a nearby display. He looked up at me and, without missing a beat, asked, "Are you a grown-up?" (I am less than five feet tall, so this question is somewhat warranted.)
"Yes," I answered. "Are you?"
He chose to ignore this silly question.
"You're small for a grown-up," he commented.
"Yes," I replied. "People come in all different sizes. Have you ever noticed that?"
Again, he ignored the crazy grown-up lady.
"How old are you, Marco?" I asked.
He looked up with surprise. "How did you know my name?"
"Well, I heard you and your dad in the dressing room. He was saying your name a lot," I answered, with only a little bit of a smile. "Are you 5?"
"I'm 4!" he said, again with surprise. "How did you know?"
"I'm a teacher, so I'm pretty good at figuring out how old kids are," I told him. Just then his dad came out of the dressing room. Presumably displeased to find his son chatting with a stranger, he whisked Marco away as best he could without a glance in my direction.
I met them again later in the checkout line. "Marco! Put that back! Marco! I mean it!" his dad was saying. I wished I could give his dad the gift of counting down from 3 to 0, along with one or two logical consequences, but I didn't have the feeling he would appreciate my contribution to his child-rearing. So I paid for my gear and left them alone to continue their father-son struggle, in which Marco clearly had the upper hand. It reminded me of a saying my mom has hanging in her office: "Arguing with a child is like mud-wrestling with a pig. You both get dirty, and the pig loves it."
From the adjacent dressing room came the following exclamations.
"Marco, no! Marco, stop! Marco, stay here! Marco! I mean it!"
No response from Marco, except the opening and closing of the dressing room door. He had clearly decided that silent opposition was more effective than conversation.
I also left my dressing room, and ran into Marco standing by a nearby display. He looked up at me and, without missing a beat, asked, "Are you a grown-up?" (I am less than five feet tall, so this question is somewhat warranted.)
"Yes," I answered. "Are you?"
He chose to ignore this silly question.
"You're small for a grown-up," he commented.
"Yes," I replied. "People come in all different sizes. Have you ever noticed that?"
Again, he ignored the crazy grown-up lady.
"How old are you, Marco?" I asked.
He looked up with surprise. "How did you know my name?"
"Well, I heard you and your dad in the dressing room. He was saying your name a lot," I answered, with only a little bit of a smile. "Are you 5?"
"I'm 4!" he said, again with surprise. "How did you know?"
"I'm a teacher, so I'm pretty good at figuring out how old kids are," I told him. Just then his dad came out of the dressing room. Presumably displeased to find his son chatting with a stranger, he whisked Marco away as best he could without a glance in my direction.
I met them again later in the checkout line. "Marco! Put that back! Marco! I mean it!" his dad was saying. I wished I could give his dad the gift of counting down from 3 to 0, along with one or two logical consequences, but I didn't have the feeling he would appreciate my contribution to his child-rearing. So I paid for my gear and left them alone to continue their father-son struggle, in which Marco clearly had the upper hand. It reminded me of a saying my mom has hanging in her office: "Arguing with a child is like mud-wrestling with a pig. You both get dirty, and the pig loves it."
Friday, June 13, 2008
Camping with the Sixth Grade
It is a new tradition at our school that every spring the sixth graders go on a camping trip to a nearby island. This year's sixth graders were the very first class I taught, way back when. You might say I learned how to be a teacher from them. And with my interest and experience in outdoor pursuits, it seemed to make sense that I join them for the trip. Three days away from my own kids seemed like too much, so I decided to go for 2 days and 1 night. Leaving my students in the utterly reliable hands of my assistant, I lent out lots of gear (proof that I am, indeed, my father's daughter), and set out for the island to meet a class that has been infamous at our school for years.I learned a number of things over the past two days. First of all, that sixth grade boys could throw rocks and catch crabs forever and never get bored. My suggestion on our hike yesterday that perhaps a bucket full of six live crabs was sufficient, and that we enjoy the rest of the crabs without trying to catch them, was received with incredulity and then promptly ignored. Promises of rock-skipping contests and crab-catching were enough to get them to complete almost any task, including cleaning trash off the beach, and made me think about what the world would be like if the way to an adult man's heart were as simple. (Having never tried to win over a man with crabs or rocks, I may just have to add this to my rapidly growing repertoire of dating strategies.)
Secondly, I learned that you manage sixth graders in just about the same way that you manage first graders. Having little experience with these preteen beings, I was initially somewhat uncertain about how to get them to comply with directions. I quickly found that my toolbox was quite well-suited to the task. Of course, getting them to do any one thing took much longer than it would take a first grader, because for a sixth grader it is very important to convey the impression that they have no intention of complying with your request, even as they begin to do so. So, for example, when I asked Antonio to join us for a photo (or a walk, or cleaning up, or basically anything), he would retort, "I'm not going. There is NO WAY I'm gonna be in that photo," as he began to very slowly make his way to just the place I had sent him. I soon discovered that the best response to this situation was to ignore the litany of refusals and cheerfully thank him for starting to join us. Other times it was best to ignore him altogether and pretend not to notice that he was, indeed, following directions.
Because it could take anywhere between 2 and 10 minutes for a sixth grader to follow a direction, I remembered something I learned from Techszewski a few years ago. Techszewski has experience teaching at a number of grade levels, and he told me that the single most valuable classroom management strategy he has discovered is counting backwards. It works with little kids, it works with middle schoolers, it works with high school students. So, I started counting backwards for the sixth graders.
There is something magical about counting backwards. It lets them know unequivocally how much time they have to begin to comply. If you count forwards, on the other hand, they don't know if you are giving them until 3 or 5 or 10, whereas counting backwards has a definite ending point. And as soon as I would say "5... 4...," they would start to move -- very, very slowly, as if their legs were buried 16 inches in mud, but moving nonetheless. They seemed to notice that I was counting for them more than the other adults were, and Leroy asked me why I was counting so much. I said, "I'm counting because it works! It worked when you were in first grade and it still works." He tried to tell me he was too "grown" for counting, but since he kept on doing what I asked when I counted, I kept on counting.
In the end, the camping trip did not help me understand very much about why some people want to teach middle school. There were memorable moments on the trip, and it was satisfying to see students who have never experienced anything like camping before thoughtfully engaged in shooting a bearing with a compass, writing intently in their journals at sunset, or exploring barnacles with fascination. They were conscientious about following the Leave No Trace guidelines we had taught them, and a number of students absolutely stepped up as leaders, displaying excellent Expedition Behavior whenever there was work to be done.
But many students were noticeably less pleasant people than they had been in first grade. I decided to be optimistic, and to assume that middle school is the lowest point in the evolution of a person, and therefore they will improve back at least to where they used to be as they get older. But first graders aren't ashamed to be excited about learning, or to openly love their teachers. And if you are going to spend all day around a group of 20 (or, in this case, 40) kids, it sure is nice if they show a little enthusiasm and affection.
Still, there were great moments. It made me remember how much I often wish to teach my students (and by this I mean kids of color from the city) in a place with a farm and the woods and the ocean, where they can be outside all the time and work hard and be healthy and safe and study at the same time. So many of them chafe in the classroom all day, and who would blame them? But outside they can run around and use their energy and come alive, and those who can't concentrate for two minutes inside become focused and intent on everything around them outside. I was thoroughly enchanted by one student, Kareem, who I hadn't known before, but who seemed to approach every moment on the island with quiet, contemplative appreciation. When several boys and I were on a bird walk early this morning, and they were talking about how they couldn't wait to go home, I asked him if he was excited to go home. "No," he answered quietly. "I like it here." I figured, if even 4 of these 40 kids felt that way, the trip was worth the trouble.
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