For those who don't know, I work in the educational realm, assisting students of varying ages and walks of life. An interesting incident happened one Christmas, which confirmed a fascinating phenomenon I first observed years ago. In the spirit of peace on earth and good will toward men, I revisit the story now.
I had received a gift from a grateful teacher, which she had adorned with an attractive but ordinary holiday bow. Taking notice of the decoration, one of my students pleaded with me to give it to her. This particular young lady was something of a challenge, trying the patience of both peers and professionals through negative, attention-seeking behaviors. Thinking quickly, I outlined some behavioral expectations she would have to meet for the duration of class in order to win the desired prize. At the end of the period, having risen to the occasion, she proudly displayed her trinket.
Another student, whose disruptive behaviors belied a mass of insecurity manifesting alternately in tears and bravado, begged for a holiday bauble that he, too, could show off. I had to regretfully tell him I had no other. He assumed his "I don't care" stance and swaggered out into the hall and his holidays.
These happenings took me back almost 10 years ago, when I was assigned to a class of seniors reminiscent of the "sweathogs" of Welcome Back, Kotter fame. Many of these kids were troubled and unruly. One student was perpetually absent, so I struck a deal with him: come to school every day for an entire week, and receive a reward. To my surprised delight, this tattooed, biker-bearded teen met the challenge one week, and looked to me for his winnings. Unprepared, I searched around in my bag of tricks (similar to Mary Poppins' carpetbag, my over-the-shoulder tote houses everything from school supplies to first aid items, and quite a bit in between). I could come up with nothing but a rumpled sheet of stickers of a cartoon character popular with the nursery school crowd. To my utter amazement, this 250-pound truant broke into a Grand Canyon-sized grin. He snatched up the stickers and with them, all the stock I had put in his "tough guy" braggadocio.
Like most kids I've met, this guy just wanted a "bow." Not a Christmas bow, but a token of self-worth. The burly bruiser he passed himself off as gave way to the little boy inside, who needed to be accepted and loved as well as held accountable.
I've been handing out stickers ever since (and silly pencils and eraser tops and whatever odds and ends are hiding in the bottom of my bag). The occasional wiseguy who scoffs at my goodies frequently melts when he sees his peers lapping them up. The gifts are incidental; the value affixed to them is the attraction. The smallest bit of recognition gives an excellent student a well-deserved accolade and an underachiever something to shoot for.
Seems like a no-brainer to me.
For more like this, check out:
Morsels for Meditation...: Dusty and Chewy, AKA, They Just Want a Bow 2
I had received a gift from a grateful teacher, which she had adorned with an attractive but ordinary holiday bow. Taking notice of the decoration, one of my students pleaded with me to give it to her. This particular young lady was something of a challenge, trying the patience of both peers and professionals through negative, attention-seeking behaviors. Thinking quickly, I outlined some behavioral expectations she would have to meet for the duration of class in order to win the desired prize. At the end of the period, having risen to the occasion, she proudly displayed her trinket.
Another student, whose disruptive behaviors belied a mass of insecurity manifesting alternately in tears and bravado, begged for a holiday bauble that he, too, could show off. I had to regretfully tell him I had no other. He assumed his "I don't care" stance and swaggered out into the hall and his holidays.
These happenings took me back almost 10 years ago, when I was assigned to a class of seniors reminiscent of the "sweathogs" of Welcome Back, Kotter fame. Many of these kids were troubled and unruly. One student was perpetually absent, so I struck a deal with him: come to school every day for an entire week, and receive a reward. To my surprised delight, this tattooed, biker-bearded teen met the challenge one week, and looked to me for his winnings. Unprepared, I searched around in my bag of tricks (similar to Mary Poppins' carpetbag, my over-the-shoulder tote houses everything from school supplies to first aid items, and quite a bit in between). I could come up with nothing but a rumpled sheet of stickers of a cartoon character popular with the nursery school crowd. To my utter amazement, this 250-pound truant broke into a Grand Canyon-sized grin. He snatched up the stickers and with them, all the stock I had put in his "tough guy" braggadocio.Like most kids I've met, this guy just wanted a "bow." Not a Christmas bow, but a token of self-worth. The burly bruiser he passed himself off as gave way to the little boy inside, who needed to be accepted and loved as well as held accountable.
I've been handing out stickers ever since (and silly pencils and eraser tops and whatever odds and ends are hiding in the bottom of my bag). The occasional wiseguy who scoffs at my goodies frequently melts when he sees his peers lapping them up. The gifts are incidental; the value affixed to them is the attraction. The smallest bit of recognition gives an excellent student a well-deserved accolade and an underachiever something to shoot for.Seems like a no-brainer to me.
For more like this, check out:
Morsels for Meditation...: Dusty and Chewy, AKA, They Just Want a Bow 2
