When I was a child, my mom had one rule for public… “no whining, no crying, no begging, no fighting.” Ok, maybe that’s four, but she always said them together. If one of us dared to break this rule we were first given a stern look with quick snapping point of the finger, and on second infraction we were all quickly escorted back to the car where we waited for her to finish her shopping. I recall this happening once. At home if our behavior was considered out of line, we were told to go to our bedrooms to “renew our spirit.” For some reason I took this to mean “go to your room and change your clothes,” a strategy that works for me to this day. Never were we chastised for making mistakes in our behavior. My parents raised us with the belief that it was their responsibility to help us understand how to act in a socially acceptable manner, and when we didn’t, we were given time to refocus and reflect before they reminded us the family expectations. I never considered this odd, until I went to school. I remember, vividly, sitting in Ms. Meckle’s* first grade classroom and listening to her chastise my classmate for not following a simple direction. I still contend that Ms. Meckle holds the world record for longest pointer finger. In second grade, I was reduced to extreme humiliation when my teacher wouldn’t let me go to the restroom, and then yelled at me when I wet my pants. In 3rd grade, Mr. Bertie* made us all write the definition for a word meaning “bundle of sticks” 100 times after one student used the inappropriate term in class. In 6th grade, I had to “pull my card” for the first time, because the teacher thought I was talking. I didn’t know what to write on the back, because I wasn’t talking, it was Erica, and she was just asking to use my eraser. When I asked what to write, Mrs. Lodge* told me to “figure it out.” I missed recess that day, and finally wrote on the back that I was talking during SSR time. I had to miss Fun Friday that week. In each of these experiences, I felt shame. The way discipline was handled in school was so far from what I had been raised with at home, that after each incident I was left with less respect for the adult in charge, and a small piece of my heart scarred. Dramatic, maybe. But nonetheless, true. You know what I don’t recall? A single instance of the teacher explaining what the better option would have been. In fact, in each case, it was clear that the focus on punishing bad kids, and not correcting inappropriate behavior. And let’s take a second to understand that inappropriate behavior is only inappropriate if it has occurred after one has been exposed to a better option. I’ve been thinking a lot about shame and fear these days. How they go hand in hand, and limit growth. Brené Brown has spent a large portion of her career speaking about shame. In her book, Daring Greatly. She says “Shame corrodes the very part of us that believes we are capable of change.” When adults shame children for their behavior, no lesson is taught, instead learning is stunted. Brown’s work also highlights the powerful role of vulnerability in our lives. According to Brown, “vulnerability is the birthplace of innovation, creativity and change.” Whose vulnerability do you embrace in your classroom? Did you say yours? In my first year teaching I tried at least 4 different classroom management strategies in my first 10 weeks of teaching. I recall sitting down with my district assigned mentor a week before winter break, crying because nothing worked. She told me to just pick something and stick with it, her suggestion was the clip chart that was dangling from the board. “Assertive discipline works,” she said. “And that chart gives students a visual reminder of the consequences for their behavior.” I ripped the chart down as soon as she left. Assertive is not in my demeanor, and my kids didn't need a reminder of consequences. Consequences were all they were ever given - they needed to believe that they were capable of making positive choices and worthy of praise. The main precept of assertive discipline is that “no student should ever prevent a teacher from teaching or keep another student from learning, period.” Yet, what if the assertive behavior of the teacher is what prevents students from learning? Public shaming is far more damaging than it is motivating, I learned that in 6th grade. Over winter break I thought a lot about what kind of teacher I wanted to be. My heart went back to my childhood, and the lessons I learned from my parents. In college I realized their parenting was based on utilitarianism, the greatest amount of happiness for the greatest number of people, and I built my classroom on this ethical theory with a bit of the Golden Rule sprinkled in for good measure. If it was in the days of Pinterest we probably would have made a pretty “In this classroom we…” sign when we came back from break, instead, we built a classroom social contract on notebook paper and pinned it to the wall. We talked about how our actions influence the climate of the room, and we always have a choice to raise or lower the amount of happiness in the room. When someone violated the social contract we built, they were asked a two simple questions - Are you raising or lowering the overall happiness of the room right now? What do you need to contribute more positively? Students were given time to reflect and refocus, and then were reminded of the classroom expectations that they helped set. I can’t lie, I still lost my cool every now and then. I’m sure there’s a kid or two out there that would tell you I have told them “This room is only big enough for you or your attitude, so one of you better leave.” However, in those moments, the kid typically chose to go for a quick walk, get a drink, and came back in a renewed frame of mind - and for those kinds of days I kept a change of clothes in my classroom closet. My last year in the classroom, on the last day of school, we were sitting in the floor sharing memories. One student said, “I really didn’t want you for a teacher. And I cried when I found out I got you this year.” Taken aback, I asked her why. She responded, “Everyone in third grade KNOWS you are the MEANEST fourth grade teacher.” To which we all laughed. I asked how they “know” this fact. She said “Your class is always the quietest in the hallways and assemblies. So we all thought you were super scary.” To which we all laughed again. I pressed further, to ask if she still felt that way. She said, “No. You just expect us to treat others with respect, and you treat us with respect back. And when we make mistakes you give us time to think about better choices. And when you make mistakes, you apologize.” In the past year, the weight of trauma and poverty on the lives of our students has become more clear to many of us. Shame is often the hidden root of pain that is often expressed as lethargy, insubordination, or rage. Kids living in poverty or dealing with trauma may not have the ability to choices, they are simply reacting to their environment, wired for survival. How does the culture of your classroom respond to the shame and vulnerability of these students? Of all students? What lasting impact is your discipline plan having on young people’s growth and learning? What practices will you continue? Which might you change? What do you need to stop now? The words of Haim Ginott echo in my teacher soul: “I’ve come to a frightening conclusion that I am the decisive element in the classroom. It’s my personal approach that creates the climate. It’s my daily mood that makes the weather. As a teacher, I possess a tremendous power to make a child’s life miserable or joyous. I can be a tool of TORTURE or an instrument of inspiration. I can humiliate or heal. In all situations, it is my response that decides whether a crisis will be escalated or de-escalated and a child humanized or dehumanized.”
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AuthorHope guides me in all endeavors. In both my professional and personal life I see opportunities to share and spread hope with others so that they too may develop pathways to see great possibilities in their lives. I believe in the power of engaged educators to build significant relationships with young people to encourage, inspire, and build great lives. This blog is a collection of my thoughts on education, hope, connecting, and engaging. Archives
July 2018
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