Got this from John today:
Guys,
I just wanted to share a success story today, and one that really confirms all the inner, emotional work we are doing, in class and on our own in order to be prepared to norm our classes in a compassionate way.
I have been racking my brains about how to deal with a “problem” 7th grader. Let’s call him “Ethan.” Ethan is one of the few kids in our school who has really had it rough. He is African American, was adopted relatively late in his life, so has been through the “system” to some extent, not sure if there is a father in the house, has very little impulse control, doesn’t want to be at this school, which his well-meaning mom put him in for his own good. He seems to have few boundaries at home, and in much of his life. His M.O. is to get attention, from classmates (class clown) and from teachers (mostly negative attention). He simply does not respond to instructions or warnings. So how was I not going to get sucked into his trap of negative adult attention? He is so cagey that I had a hard time even making eye contact with him for the first few days. During the circle name game, and preliminary classes, he would talk constantly, making jokes, comments, etc. and I was just observing, seeing how he and the others interact. But today I had finished with talk, and was prepared to take action.
I came into class today armed with my rules poster, laser pointer, seating chart, and a 3 minute egg timer. First of all the students came into the room chatting loudly. Once they had sat down, and most of them were paying attention, I asked them to turn around, leave the classroom, come back in and quietly take their seats. I then calmly went over the rules with them. Ethan made a few comments, and I stopped, looked him in the eye, and with a smile, said: that’s not ok. At this point, everyone is watching, wondering what I am going to do. I do nothing, but it’s ominous.
Next, I took them through the call and response, saying that I needed to hear them respond as a class (ooh, ahh, ita/minime, etc). Ethan responded as expected, making his response louder, different, or ahead of or behind the rest. Looking directly at him, but talking to the entire class, I said. “We’re not quite there. Let’s try that again.” After about 3 or 4 times, other kids got the message, and they stopped sending Ethan those encouraging signs, and then Ethan fell in line, for a while. Then he made some random comment. I told him he would have to leave the room if he did that again. I think I gave him one more warning after that, but then I simply handed him the timer and said (without any anger) “I need you to take a break.” The rest of the class was surprised, but knew exactly what was happening, because this is what the earlier grade teachers in my school do. I escorted Ethan to the door and told him to sit on the floor outside the door until the timer was done and then come back into the room. Three minutes later he poked his head into the room, made a face at the class and said “yeah” with a kind of victory salute. I simply looked at him and said “back out there for three more.” The class found this very entertaining, and so did he, but he went. the class was thrilled by this show. It was strange, because he was still getting attention from the class, but there was a big shift: it was clear that he was no longer calling the shots, and the students were no longer rooting for him. When he came in the next time, he went right to his seat. For the rest of the class he did really well, better than I had expected. I made a point to make positive eye contact with him every time he played the game, and I didn’t have to say a word, in fact this was FAR more effective than talking. Also, the consequence carried with it no shame or anger, and therefore no resentment. He knew exactly how he caused his own ejection from the center of attention, and he didn’t want that. I was offering him another way to get attention in class, and he wanted it.
One telling moment was when a student next to him made the “I don’t understand sign,” and I motioned to give him a fist bump (Bernard Style, for you who were at NTPRS), Ethan, “jokingly” tried to move in on the fist bump. I say “jokingly” because it is clear that he really wanted that from me, that positive adult attention that kids in Ethan’s situation crave but don’t know how to get. It was near the end of class, and I wasn’t processing all this quickly enough in class, but I’ll be sure to give him that fist bump next class, when he continues to play the game.
I am positive that there is nothing I could have “told” Ethan to get him to change his behavior. For a kid like this (and for many kids), words mean nothing, because adults are always telling them things, but their actions send very different messages. Most of the adults in his life have probably never matched their actions with their words, so he stopped listening to words, and relied on reading the more primitive (but accurate) vibes and emotional responses, moods and actions of people around him, in order to survive. Ethan doesn’t need words, he needs consistent and caring action, immediate and clear responses from adults which guide him, and genuine praise and approval in response to his successes.
Today was the first day in my teaching career that I was able to confront a resistant student without fear, without hesitation, and without anger, because I had made it my #1 goal to connect with students, and guide them using non-vebal communication. All the inner work I have been doing (summarized in my post on the blog last week) is paying off. Forget lesson plans, forget curriculum, forget grades. This is my curriculum: showing Ethan (and the rest of his classmates) by example what it means to interact in a human way with adults who take genuine compassionate human interaction seriously.
I’m sure I have it easy compared to you all (you probably have a few Ethans in every secition), but I hope my own experience can help and/or confirm the work you are doing in your classrooms.
Thanks for all the support.
John
John Piazza Cathedral School for Boys San Francisco, CA