I spent most of an afternoon last month in a school case conference about my high-spirited tow-headed young nonconformist who doesn't obey the rules.
That evening, I attended the school musical, "Tom Sawyer"... which was about a high-spirited tow-headed young nonconformist who doesn't obey the rules.
Am I the only one who finds this the teensiest bit ironic? I joked about it to the principal, but not having read Tom Sawyer, she just looked at me blankly.
Those who do not know their history are doomed to repeat it. It seems that this goes for their literature as well.
Seriously, though, we have a collective fascination with blond-headed troublemakers who say and do all the things we yearned to get away with at that age. How long has Dennis the Menace been running on the comics page? How about his modern compatriot, Calvin of "Calvin and Hobbes"? Bart Simpson? All of them a right royal pain in the rear, and we're not keen to live next to them, but we seem to need them, nonetheless.
Friday, April 30, 2010
The Art of Apology
Apologizing is a loaded act, these days. Apologizing at the scene of a car accident can let you in for some fun liability issues. Corporate apologies (for getting caught cooking the books, for issuing a faulty product, for causing a gas leak that wipes out an entire village) are also invitations for the legal dogs to descend, and generally issued only at gunpoint. Apologizing for a medical error? Hel-lo, malpractice suit.
However, I have always been cultivating the art of apology with T.K. Putting it bluntly, if he keeps being the impulsive imp he is, he's going to need to do a lot of it, and do it well. So we work on it.
The crime under consideration recently was an incident in math class. He and a girl were playing a math game that involved rolling dice. Both wanted to be the custodian of the dice, in between turns. She got hold of them and wouldn't give them back, he got upset and bit her on the hand. Which is certainly not okay (and yet another thing he doesn't do at home or outside of school, go figure).
So we talked about how to demonstrate his penitence, and settled on a card of apology. When asked what this girl liked best, T.K. was prompt -- "she likes Disney Princesses". So we went to the Disney website, and sonovagun, they have printable greeting cards. Did you know that? I didn't. He chose the border, chose the princess she likes best (Sleeping Beauty) printed it out and laboriously signed it. He also had to write the message inside because of all the canned greeting messages available, "Sorry I bit you in math class," is not one of them. You'd think that Disney would be all over a productization opportunity like this, but apparently not.
The next day he presented it to her with great pride and excitement; she was thrilled with it and kept it in her desk until the teacher made her take it home.
As a friend of mine is fond of saying, "Ya gotta take us everywhere twice -- the second time to apologize!"
However, I have always been cultivating the art of apology with T.K. Putting it bluntly, if he keeps being the impulsive imp he is, he's going to need to do a lot of it, and do it well. So we work on it.
The crime under consideration recently was an incident in math class. He and a girl were playing a math game that involved rolling dice. Both wanted to be the custodian of the dice, in between turns. She got hold of them and wouldn't give them back, he got upset and bit her on the hand. Which is certainly not okay (and yet another thing he doesn't do at home or outside of school, go figure).
So we talked about how to demonstrate his penitence, and settled on a card of apology. When asked what this girl liked best, T.K. was prompt -- "she likes Disney Princesses". So we went to the Disney website, and sonovagun, they have printable greeting cards. Did you know that? I didn't. He chose the border, chose the princess she likes best (Sleeping Beauty) printed it out and laboriously signed it. He also had to write the message inside because of all the canned greeting messages available, "Sorry I bit you in math class," is not one of them. You'd think that Disney would be all over a productization opportunity like this, but apparently not.
The next day he presented it to her with great pride and excitement; she was thrilled with it and kept it in her desk until the teacher made her take it home.
As a friend of mine is fond of saying, "Ya gotta take us everywhere twice -- the second time to apologize!"
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
The New Epidemic of Defiance
My M.O., when confronted with a problem, has always been to get one (or two, or twelve) books on the subject and research obsessively. Parenting is the first challenge that has not fairly quickly sorted itself out in the face of the onslaught of print-based expertise, and this has actually been a very good thing for me.
However, old habits die hard, and after one of our recent school blow-ups, I went out and spent $100 on books with "Defiant" and "Challenging" in the title. The first one, "Your Defiant Child" (by Russell Barkley, who has a PhD and everything, and Christine Benton, who doesn't but is still really really smart) earned itself a free flight across the room and into the opposite wall, when I encountered the following, ten pages in:
"Therefore, to answer the question, 'Is there really anything wrong, or is it just me,' you need some reliable objective measures. My colleagues and I consider a child oppositional and defiant when the child demonstrates a pattern of three types of behavior:
"1. The child fails to start doing what you ask within one minute after you make the request (or one minute following the point at which you say the child has to do what you ask, such as after the cartoon he is watching is over)."
Good heavens. Who knew? It seems that I also have a defiant *husband*, as well as a defiant child!! And to be fair, I find out that *I* am also regularly defiant! Don't ask how many times my husband has to ask me to do my taxes, in an average year. Well, on we go...
"2. The child fails to finish what you've asked her to do. Some children may get up and start making their beds as requested right away, but then they run off to do something more appealing in the middle of the chore."
Well, THAT'S certainly not normal. I mean, if it were, we'd have a whole nation of people checking their Facebook pages or thinking about their vacations or talking about last night's episode of Lost, when they SHOULD be WORKING!!
"3. The child violates rules of conduct already taught. Does your son know that swearing is unacceptable in your house, but he does it anyway? Does your daughter understand the rule, 'no snacks without permission,' but constantly take food from the refrigerator without asking?"
Oh, for pity's sake. Kid drops the f-bomb or raids the fridge and he's diagnosable? What are we raising here, humans or Imperial Storm Trooper Clones? Would you take parenting advice from someone who never did these things? Would you want to BE parented by someone whose demands for compliance were that rigid?
There are some families out there with REAL problems. Kids who do real harm to others and themselves. Kids whose anxieties are so paralyzing that they can't even leave the house. Why are we pathologizing kids who do things that we ALL did, and all STILL do, even as adults?
Okay. Deep breath. Retrieve book from place behind the sofa where it landed. The dust jacket features a recommendation by Ed Hallowell, who's someone I respect. Russell and Christine, Ed's just obtained you your second chance. Don't be wasting my valuable time, now. Give me some worthwhile perspective -- within one minute of me requesting it, please.
However, old habits die hard, and after one of our recent school blow-ups, I went out and spent $100 on books with "Defiant" and "Challenging" in the title. The first one, "Your Defiant Child" (by Russell Barkley, who has a PhD and everything, and Christine Benton, who doesn't but is still really really smart) earned itself a free flight across the room and into the opposite wall, when I encountered the following, ten pages in:
"Therefore, to answer the question, 'Is there really anything wrong, or is it just me,' you need some reliable objective measures. My colleagues and I consider a child oppositional and defiant when the child demonstrates a pattern of three types of behavior:
"1. The child fails to start doing what you ask within one minute after you make the request (or one minute following the point at which you say the child has to do what you ask, such as after the cartoon he is watching is over)."
Good heavens. Who knew? It seems that I also have a defiant *husband*, as well as a defiant child!! And to be fair, I find out that *I* am also regularly defiant! Don't ask how many times my husband has to ask me to do my taxes, in an average year. Well, on we go...
"2. The child fails to finish what you've asked her to do. Some children may get up and start making their beds as requested right away, but then they run off to do something more appealing in the middle of the chore."
Well, THAT'S certainly not normal. I mean, if it were, we'd have a whole nation of people checking their Facebook pages or thinking about their vacations or talking about last night's episode of Lost, when they SHOULD be WORKING!!
"3. The child violates rules of conduct already taught. Does your son know that swearing is unacceptable in your house, but he does it anyway? Does your daughter understand the rule, 'no snacks without permission,' but constantly take food from the refrigerator without asking?"
Oh, for pity's sake. Kid drops the f-bomb or raids the fridge and he's diagnosable? What are we raising here, humans or Imperial Storm Trooper Clones? Would you take parenting advice from someone who never did these things? Would you want to BE parented by someone whose demands for compliance were that rigid?
There are some families out there with REAL problems. Kids who do real harm to others and themselves. Kids whose anxieties are so paralyzing that they can't even leave the house. Why are we pathologizing kids who do things that we ALL did, and all STILL do, even as adults?
Okay. Deep breath. Retrieve book from place behind the sofa where it landed. The dust jacket features a recommendation by Ed Hallowell, who's someone I respect. Russell and Christine, Ed's just obtained you your second chance. Don't be wasting my valuable time, now. Give me some worthwhile perspective -- within one minute of me requesting it, please.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Pitching Pastries with the Posh Set
T.K. and his older sister were eating their bedtime snack at the table, and pretending to be customers at a fancy restaurant.
"And why are you here?" enquires Sis loftily. "Are you in love?"
T.K. replies, equally loftily, "No, I won a pie-throwing contest."
"And why are you here?" enquires Sis loftily. "Are you in love?"
T.K. replies, equally loftily, "No, I won a pie-throwing contest."
The Cosmic Roller Coaster
So... T.K.'s show-and-tell triumph was followed by the worst weekend we've ever had. Three complete and utter meltdowns, over stuff he normally handles quite well (okay, well, pretty well at least). The largest and best freakouts and showdowns and lockups were reserved for his Community Helper homework assignment.
See, T.K. hates writing. HATES it. And watching him laboriously scrawl wobbly preschooler letters onto paper, I can see why. It must be like writing with your left hand ALL THE TIME. I've got him signed up for the Handwriting Without Tears Printing Camp in the fall, which did wonders for his sister's equally drunken script, but until then... we make do with Handwriting With Tears.
I scribe for him. I write out his words and let him copy them down. I let him use the computer occasionally. I take him for walks and movement breaks. I let him chew gum. I help him do finger warmups. I don't insist that he write a LOT, but he has to do some, or he'll never get the hang. Some days it works. Some days, it.... doesn't, and the whole experience is not unlike giving your cat a bath. Both parties emerge from the experience dishevelled, breathless, roughed up and resentful.
But... eventually, the stars aligned, and he was able to buckle in and git 'er done, and was quite proud of himself when he finished.
So it goes, so much of the time when you have an atypically-developing kid. For every triumph a disaster, for every disaster, a triumph... it does sorta balance out, but it's certainly not a ride for the faint of heart. You need a catch-phrase, a "some days you eat the bear, some days the bear eats you" kinda mantra to get you through the disaster days. I used to work as a forest fire lookout, and I remember the day when a waterbomber team spent a long and laborious (and killingly hot) day laying a fire retardant line around an out-of-control fire. They almost had that sucker penned in, when the wind changed and the thing ran out the back of their almost-completed circle, and they were back to square one. One of the pilots (in weary violation of federal regs about swearing on the air) sighed, "Ah, fuck, it's only trees."
So -- accept the disaster days, indulge in a little balm for the soul, shrug off the humiliation of... oh, insert the Unspeakable Incident of your choice here... and move on, confident that there is a triumph of some sort coming down the pike to keep you going. It may not be tomorrow, and you may have to keep a sharp eye, because it may be small and easy to miss in the daily chaos, but it's there. And it'll keep you going, if you let it.
See, T.K. hates writing. HATES it. And watching him laboriously scrawl wobbly preschooler letters onto paper, I can see why. It must be like writing with your left hand ALL THE TIME. I've got him signed up for the Handwriting Without Tears Printing Camp in the fall, which did wonders for his sister's equally drunken script, but until then... we make do with Handwriting With Tears.
I scribe for him. I write out his words and let him copy them down. I let him use the computer occasionally. I take him for walks and movement breaks. I let him chew gum. I help him do finger warmups. I don't insist that he write a LOT, but he has to do some, or he'll never get the hang. Some days it works. Some days, it.... doesn't, and the whole experience is not unlike giving your cat a bath. Both parties emerge from the experience dishevelled, breathless, roughed up and resentful.
But... eventually, the stars aligned, and he was able to buckle in and git 'er done, and was quite proud of himself when he finished.
So it goes, so much of the time when you have an atypically-developing kid. For every triumph a disaster, for every disaster, a triumph... it does sorta balance out, but it's certainly not a ride for the faint of heart. You need a catch-phrase, a "some days you eat the bear, some days the bear eats you" kinda mantra to get you through the disaster days. I used to work as a forest fire lookout, and I remember the day when a waterbomber team spent a long and laborious (and killingly hot) day laying a fire retardant line around an out-of-control fire. They almost had that sucker penned in, when the wind changed and the thing ran out the back of their almost-completed circle, and they were back to square one. One of the pilots (in weary violation of federal regs about swearing on the air) sighed, "Ah, fuck, it's only trees."
So -- accept the disaster days, indulge in a little balm for the soul, shrug off the humiliation of... oh, insert the Unspeakable Incident of your choice here... and move on, confident that there is a triumph of some sort coming down the pike to keep you going. It may not be tomorrow, and you may have to keep a sharp eye, because it may be small and easy to miss in the daily chaos, but it's there. And it'll keep you going, if you let it.
Friday, April 23, 2010
If that's a truck tire in the bathtub, then this must be spring
T.K.'s teacher is trying to get away from the "bring and brag" element of traditional "show and tell". So she usually assigns themes. This month's theme is, "Signs of Spring". All the nice normie kids are dutifully bringing in flowers and willow branches and pictures of robins and etc. T.K., who can become one with nature with the best of them (thank goodness for my heavy-duty washer-drier), said, "I want to bring a tire."
"Um, why?"
"Because spring is when you change over from winter tires to summer tires."
"Oh." Makes sense. Fortunately, we have an obliging mechanic, who loaned us one for a few days. T.K. decided that it was too dirty for the classroom... so he had a bath with it. My husband arrived home that night from a four-day business trip to find a damp truck tire (and a big scummy black ring) in the bathtub. Being a wise man, he asked no questions.
The next day T.K. triumphantly towed it to school on his wagon, and apparently explained in great detail (holding the spotlight has never been a challenge for T.K.) the factors that make it a good idea to change from winter to summer tires right now. His teacher said even she learned some things she hadn't known.
That's my lateral-thinkin' boy!!!
"Um, why?"
"Because spring is when you change over from winter tires to summer tires."
"Oh." Makes sense. Fortunately, we have an obliging mechanic, who loaned us one for a few days. T.K. decided that it was too dirty for the classroom... so he had a bath with it. My husband arrived home that night from a four-day business trip to find a damp truck tire (and a big scummy black ring) in the bathtub. Being a wise man, he asked no questions.
The next day T.K. triumphantly towed it to school on his wagon, and apparently explained in great detail (holding the spotlight has never been a challenge for T.K.) the factors that make it a good idea to change from winter to summer tires right now. His teacher said even she learned some things she hadn't known.
That's my lateral-thinkin' boy!!!
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Pee break
Well, the good news is that I'm impressed by the school's scramble response when a student fails to show up at the next class. But I wish they'd checked the bathroom BEFORE they went and freaked out.
Seems T.K.'s class was on the way to the library. T.K. decided he needed to pee, and in the absence of an immediately-available adult to ask permission of, he peeled off and went to the can. The librarian noted his absence and called his teacher. His teacher arrived, breathless, at the office where I was chatting with the principal about some School Council stuff. "Is T.K. here?" "No, he isn't." "He didn't report to the library!" The principal turned white, shot to her feet, and in a trice we had the principal, the assistant principal and an E.A. galloping through the halls in search of the lost lamb. Just as I was saying, "Has anyone checked the bathrooms?" -- T.K. emerged from the boys' room, and found himself instantly surrounded by a posse of hard-breathing, dishevelled adults. He saw Mom, and made a beeline in my direction. I prompted him, "T.K., if you have to go to the washroom, you should always..."
T.K. looked around at the assembly of white-faced authority figures surrounding him and ventured uncertainly, "Um, wash my hands??"
Yeah, honey. That too.
Seems T.K.'s class was on the way to the library. T.K. decided he needed to pee, and in the absence of an immediately-available adult to ask permission of, he peeled off and went to the can. The librarian noted his absence and called his teacher. His teacher arrived, breathless, at the office where I was chatting with the principal about some School Council stuff. "Is T.K. here?" "No, he isn't." "He didn't report to the library!" The principal turned white, shot to her feet, and in a trice we had the principal, the assistant principal and an E.A. galloping through the halls in search of the lost lamb. Just as I was saying, "Has anyone checked the bathrooms?" -- T.K. emerged from the boys' room, and found himself instantly surrounded by a posse of hard-breathing, dishevelled adults. He saw Mom, and made a beeline in my direction. I prompted him, "T.K., if you have to go to the washroom, you should always..."
T.K. looked around at the assembly of white-faced authority figures surrounding him and ventured uncertainly, "Um, wash my hands??"
Yeah, honey. That too.
T.K.'s and my place at the table
Well, I wasn't holding out much hope, and sure enough, Behaviour Consultant showed up (late) with a fully-developed plan in hand (again). The first page was a summary of the stuff that T.K.'s hardworking teacher and I are already doing. Ummm, thanks. The second page was a detailed discussion of what to do if T.K. leaves school property (which he has never done). There was a lot of verbiage about repeatedly paging him to return to a safe place, then of following and not chasing him through the neighbourhood while attempting to contact me by phone, as if he was going to go on some kind of murderous rampage or something. I suspect it was a cut and paste from some other kid's plan. On top of that she got my name wrong.
A fuse somewhere in my head went, "fzzit!" and I listened to a clear, controlled voice (hey, whoa, is that ME??) saying, "This is precisely the situation I was hoping to avoid with the phone calls I made to you last week, hoping to discuss the plan, which you did not return. Now I'm in the position of having to read, digest and respond to the plan all simultaneously, when the meeting is already in progress." She could have saved it by an apology, but instead she turned bright red and tightly said, "Yes, that's... hard." So I stopped the whole meeting and however many dollars of School Board time and expertise (tally up: one principal, one special education teacher, one teacher, one social worker) and cooled its heels while I leafed through the thing... and then chucked it aside. We then went on to have quite a productive meeting (enjoyably enhanced by the sullen silence of the Behaviour Consultant), although my husband remarked later that it was a very FEMALE meeting, with everyone dancing around everyone's feelings with exaggerated deference.
"What, you didn't think I was too pushy?"
"No, you were the only one trying to get specific problems and specific solutions on the table. Yeah, you slapped that one woman down, but she deserved it. I think they're a little scared of you now."
Wow.
Bottom line? I'm sure you'd get a wide variety of "takes" on that meeting depending on who you ask. But for me it was a breakthrough. I found my voice, and it wasn't shrill or defensive or ingratiatingly passive. I have a place at the table, and a role in this process, and you don't have to agree with me but you do have to listen. My son's a six-year-old who sometimes does good things and sometimes does bad things and sometimes succeeds and sometimes fails; he's not a rabid dog. If you're not prepared to keep thinking and keep problem-solving with him, and with me, then why are you in this job? Or did you only sign on to deal with the "easy" kids, the ones who line up in neat rows and do precisely what you expect?
A fuse somewhere in my head went, "fzzit!" and I listened to a clear, controlled voice (hey, whoa, is that ME??) saying, "This is precisely the situation I was hoping to avoid with the phone calls I made to you last week, hoping to discuss the plan, which you did not return. Now I'm in the position of having to read, digest and respond to the plan all simultaneously, when the meeting is already in progress." She could have saved it by an apology, but instead she turned bright red and tightly said, "Yes, that's... hard." So I stopped the whole meeting and however many dollars of School Board time and expertise (tally up: one principal, one special education teacher, one teacher, one social worker) and cooled its heels while I leafed through the thing... and then chucked it aside. We then went on to have quite a productive meeting (enjoyably enhanced by the sullen silence of the Behaviour Consultant), although my husband remarked later that it was a very FEMALE meeting, with everyone dancing around everyone's feelings with exaggerated deference.
"What, you didn't think I was too pushy?"
"No, you were the only one trying to get specific problems and specific solutions on the table. Yeah, you slapped that one woman down, but she deserved it. I think they're a little scared of you now."
Wow.
Bottom line? I'm sure you'd get a wide variety of "takes" on that meeting depending on who you ask. But for me it was a breakthrough. I found my voice, and it wasn't shrill or defensive or ingratiatingly passive. I have a place at the table, and a role in this process, and you don't have to agree with me but you do have to listen. My son's a six-year-old who sometimes does good things and sometimes does bad things and sometimes succeeds and sometimes fails; he's not a rabid dog. If you're not prepared to keep thinking and keep problem-solving with him, and with me, then why are you in this job? Or did you only sign on to deal with the "easy" kids, the ones who line up in neat rows and do precisely what you expect?
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Another meeting with the "experts"
Okay, hopefully I'm wrong, and this will encounter will be full of fresh ideas, open discussion and problem-solving.
But, well, the odds aren't great. For a start, this is the behaviour specialist from the school board. When we first spoke, I asked her for two things:
I did support it as best I could, but -- surprise, surprise, it didn't work worth a damn.
Has she learned anything from this, or will we plunge on into bigger and more thoroughly elaborated tickie-charts? I'm not holding my breath.
But, well, the odds aren't great. For a start, this is the behaviour specialist from the school board. When we first spoke, I asked her for two things:
- I don't want any more tickie-charts for T.K. because they DON'T WORK (when you lose your cool outside at recess because someone just pushed you or called you a name, a tickie-chart kept on the teacher's desk won't help you calm down and make "good decisions"),
- and I wanted to be included in the problem-solving process because I know the kid and can support the system's efforts better if I'm included.
I did support it as best I could, but -- surprise, surprise, it didn't work worth a damn.
Has she learned anything from this, or will we plunge on into bigger and more thoroughly elaborated tickie-charts? I'm not holding my breath.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Maybe if we called it emotional dyslexia or something...
T.K. lost his cool today at the child care centre in the fitness club; he desperately wanted a turn on the Wii, and he ran out of patience and threw the remote he was holding. Not AT anyone, but one doesn't throw stuff, and one NEVER throws stuff in a crowded room, and one particularly doesn't throw EXPENSIVE stuff that belongs to someone else. As usual, things escalated when he was put into time-out; many of his large-scale meltdowns are the results of his reaction to being scolded for some smaller-scale infraction, and no, I still can't say precisely why this is the case. It's just one of his things.
So. I got paged and we went for a walk outside while he cooled off. (I had to drag him outside, initially. He was still too tied up in freakout mode.) Took about ten, fifteen minutes to pass off. Longer than usual. I knew he was pretty much done when he crawled into my lap.
"Mom, I think we should call that phone number."
"What phone number?"
"The one on TV. The one for if you have a disabled child."
"Do I have a disabled child?"
"Me. I can't cool down as fast as other kids. And I break easier."
Hm. Not bad, kiddo. I have worked with 40-year-olds with less self-awareness, whether I agree to call it a "disability" or not. Some days I want to. Not in the, "It's not my fault, I have a disability," sense. More like a developmental delay, or a learning problem, the way Ross Greene has framed it. (Dr. Ross Greene, developer of the Collaborative Problem Solving approach to challenging kids, totally rocks. More on him later. But if you can't wait until then, go check out his resource-rich website at http://www.livesinthebalance.org/.)
I'm on the School Council, and I've listened to all the initiatives that go on for kids who don't acquire skills the same way the other kids do. Do you have dyslexia or other reading challenges? We have literacy coaching for kids to help you catch up. Do you struggle with graphomotor tasks? No problem, we have Handwriting Without Tears and printing camp to get you more comfortable and more fluent. Are you having a hard time mastering the foundations of numeracy? It's okay, there's math boosters and individual coaching. Do you have trouble controlling your emotions and developing social skills equivalent to your peers'? Go sit in the timeout chair, and if that doesn't give you the skills, off to the principal's office with you.
Time was, it was thought that people who struggled with basic literacy and numeracy were stupid, lazy or both. Now we know better. They are intelligent, motivated, and just need some extra help along the way, because the standard ways of learning the skills don't work for them.
Ross Greene hopes that in thirty years we'll have dropped the moral stigmas associated with poor self-regulation and challenging behaviour, and get down to brass tacks with figuring out how to teach the skills in the way that kid can learn them. And that means TEACHING them. Not just rewarding success and punishing failure. Think back to when you learned to drive. Did the teacher sit in the passenger seat with a big stick and a bag of Smarties, and whack you when you made a mistake, and dole out a Smartie when you did it right? No, they talked ahead of time about the challenge you were facing, then talked you through it. Practiced it until it worked well. Treated you like someone who WANTED to learn.
T.K. eventually went inside, apologized, and while I showered he got his turn, then promptly handed off to the next kid in line without a moment's hesitation. That's my boy. I hope they remember that part, when they're telling the meltdown story later.
So. I got paged and we went for a walk outside while he cooled off. (I had to drag him outside, initially. He was still too tied up in freakout mode.) Took about ten, fifteen minutes to pass off. Longer than usual. I knew he was pretty much done when he crawled into my lap.
"Mom, I think we should call that phone number."
"What phone number?"
"The one on TV. The one for if you have a disabled child."
"Do I have a disabled child?"
"Me. I can't cool down as fast as other kids. And I break easier."
Hm. Not bad, kiddo. I have worked with 40-year-olds with less self-awareness, whether I agree to call it a "disability" or not. Some days I want to. Not in the, "It's not my fault, I have a disability," sense. More like a developmental delay, or a learning problem, the way Ross Greene has framed it. (Dr. Ross Greene, developer of the Collaborative Problem Solving approach to challenging kids, totally rocks. More on him later. But if you can't wait until then, go check out his resource-rich website at http://www.livesinthebalance.org/.)
I'm on the School Council, and I've listened to all the initiatives that go on for kids who don't acquire skills the same way the other kids do. Do you have dyslexia or other reading challenges? We have literacy coaching for kids to help you catch up. Do you struggle with graphomotor tasks? No problem, we have Handwriting Without Tears and printing camp to get you more comfortable and more fluent. Are you having a hard time mastering the foundations of numeracy? It's okay, there's math boosters and individual coaching. Do you have trouble controlling your emotions and developing social skills equivalent to your peers'? Go sit in the timeout chair, and if that doesn't give you the skills, off to the principal's office with you.
Time was, it was thought that people who struggled with basic literacy and numeracy were stupid, lazy or both. Now we know better. They are intelligent, motivated, and just need some extra help along the way, because the standard ways of learning the skills don't work for them.
Ross Greene hopes that in thirty years we'll have dropped the moral stigmas associated with poor self-regulation and challenging behaviour, and get down to brass tacks with figuring out how to teach the skills in the way that kid can learn them. And that means TEACHING them. Not just rewarding success and punishing failure. Think back to when you learned to drive. Did the teacher sit in the passenger seat with a big stick and a bag of Smarties, and whack you when you made a mistake, and dole out a Smartie when you did it right? No, they talked ahead of time about the challenge you were facing, then talked you through it. Practiced it until it worked well. Treated you like someone who WANTED to learn.
T.K. eventually went inside, apologized, and while I showered he got his turn, then promptly handed off to the next kid in line without a moment's hesitation. That's my boy. I hope they remember that part, when they're telling the meltdown story later.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
But don't get me wrong
It isn't all angst and anguish living on T.K.'s side of the rules.
T.K.'s teacher puts large achievement stickers on the kids' shirts if they do something particularly difficult or remarkable in class. The idea is that parents, friends and who-all can then ask what the wonderful achievement was, and the kiddo gets to bask in admiration multiple times over.
Well, T.K.'s shy, bookish little buddy Donny came out at dismissal time wearing one the other day. "Hi, Donny," sez I. "Wow, what did you do to get one of those special stickers today?"
T.K., eyes shining with pride and excitement for his friend, bursts out, "I was bugging him and he used his words to say he didn't like it and I should stop!!"
Um, yeah. Well, if we can't be the good example, we'll be the obstacle that someone else overcomes to get the glory, right? Ooooo-kay.
T.K.'s teacher puts large achievement stickers on the kids' shirts if they do something particularly difficult or remarkable in class. The idea is that parents, friends and who-all can then ask what the wonderful achievement was, and the kiddo gets to bask in admiration multiple times over.
Well, T.K.'s shy, bookish little buddy Donny came out at dismissal time wearing one the other day. "Hi, Donny," sez I. "Wow, what did you do to get one of those special stickers today?"
T.K., eyes shining with pride and excitement for his friend, bursts out, "I was bugging him and he used his words to say he didn't like it and I should stop!!"
Um, yeah. Well, if we can't be the good example, we'll be the obstacle that someone else overcomes to get the glory, right? Ooooo-kay.
When That Kid is Your Kid
I am mom to That Kid (hereafter referred to as T.K.) The one your own well-behaved kids come home and tell stories about.
"Sid was lifting a chair to show how strong he was, so T.K. THREW a chair to show how strong HE was. Nobody got hurt, but he had to go to the principal's office."
"Janette and her sister wouldn't let T.K. play on the benches with them. They said the benches were just for girls. Then they called Janette's big sister to make him go away. She pushed him, so he hit her. Then he got mad and called her a penis. He had to go to the principal's office."
"T.K. put his gum in Charlie's hair. Mrs. McCloud the secretary got it out with cooking oil. T.K. had to go to the principal's office."
"T.K. really hates spelling tests. His writing is SOOO bad. He hid in the coat closet when it was time for the test and wouldn't come out. He had to go to the principal's office."
Sense any repeating themes here? We spend a lot of time in the principal's office. A *lot*. Hearing phrases like, "he makes bad choices". Boy, am I getting tired of that particular one. It makes it sound like T.K. stands there, tapping his six-year-old cheek thoughtfully while he considers the situation. "Do the thing that will get me in a lot of trouble, gain me no rewards or pleasure, and cause my classmates to point fingers at me? Or shall I choose the more conventional and societally expected route? Hmmmm... Oh, heck, ya gotta live large."
This is the point in the discussion where you lucky folks whose kids have always complied easily with authority roll your eyes and mutter something about (passive/uninvolved/permissive/inconsistent/noncontingent/lazy) parents. (Take your pick.) I assure you, we're not any of those. I stayed home with my kids. They have limits, and consequences. I limit their screen time, don't permit violent videogames or programs, feed them healthy food, encourage collaborative play, make sure they get lots of exercise outdoors, assign chores, all that good stuff. The humbling surprise has been to find out that I *don't* control the personalities that my kids arrive with. T.K. is T.K. My job is now to figure out how to help him function and succeed in a school system whose expectations he's (often spectacularly) unable to meet for six straight hours a day.
Somewhere in the last few decades, we had a continental shift in the education system. On the up side, systematic bullying is less acceptable. That's good. We talk about concepts like "empathy" and "self-esteem" and other very important things. Also good. But dear heavens, we expect a lotta control. Control of one's emotions, control of one's fidgetiness, control of one's attention, control of one's impulses, control (a toughie for many three-and-four-year-olds) of bladder and bowels, control of one's preadolescent sense of humour, six straight hours of perfect control, while executing someone else's agenda, which may or may not be any fun. Do-able for some kids, and for the others there's no shortage of blame and shame. For the kid, and also, of course, their parents, who clearly haven't done a very good job. Never mind kid -- your parents clearly messed up, but for you we have time-out chairs and behaviour-mod sticker charts at the ready. And if those don't turn you away from your criminal ways in short order, then you need a label. ODD, ADD, PDD-NOS... it seems that just being six years old (or five, or four, or three) is no longer sufficient explanation of your persistently childish behaviour.
Yes, yes, I do realize that there are diagnosable disorders and mental illnesses out there, and early help is key for helping those kids grow up to be the best and happiest selves they can be. And I also realize that many of you were traumatized by bona fide bullies who went out of their way to make your life a personal hell. But I live in the in-between zone, and somewhere along the way, "immature kid" turned into "bad kid". The Kid Who Makes Bad Choices.
This blog is my way to blow off steam as T.K. and I (and his father, and his sister) navigate our way through the school system, one day at a time. And also to extend a hand to other parents who dread seeing the school's number show up on the call display, who burn with frustration and shame when they overhear teachers, and other parents, and their perfectly-behaved-in-school offspring, talking about that kid.
That Kid.
"Sid was lifting a chair to show how strong he was, so T.K. THREW a chair to show how strong HE was. Nobody got hurt, but he had to go to the principal's office."
"Janette and her sister wouldn't let T.K. play on the benches with them. They said the benches were just for girls. Then they called Janette's big sister to make him go away. She pushed him, so he hit her. Then he got mad and called her a penis. He had to go to the principal's office."
"T.K. put his gum in Charlie's hair. Mrs. McCloud the secretary got it out with cooking oil. T.K. had to go to the principal's office."
"T.K. really hates spelling tests. His writing is SOOO bad. He hid in the coat closet when it was time for the test and wouldn't come out. He had to go to the principal's office."
Sense any repeating themes here? We spend a lot of time in the principal's office. A *lot*. Hearing phrases like, "he makes bad choices". Boy, am I getting tired of that particular one. It makes it sound like T.K. stands there, tapping his six-year-old cheek thoughtfully while he considers the situation. "Do the thing that will get me in a lot of trouble, gain me no rewards or pleasure, and cause my classmates to point fingers at me? Or shall I choose the more conventional and societally expected route? Hmmmm... Oh, heck, ya gotta live large."
This is the point in the discussion where you lucky folks whose kids have always complied easily with authority roll your eyes and mutter something about (passive/uninvolved/permissive/inconsistent/noncontingent/lazy) parents. (Take your pick.) I assure you, we're not any of those. I stayed home with my kids. They have limits, and consequences. I limit their screen time, don't permit violent videogames or programs, feed them healthy food, encourage collaborative play, make sure they get lots of exercise outdoors, assign chores, all that good stuff. The humbling surprise has been to find out that I *don't* control the personalities that my kids arrive with. T.K. is T.K. My job is now to figure out how to help him function and succeed in a school system whose expectations he's (often spectacularly) unable to meet for six straight hours a day.
Somewhere in the last few decades, we had a continental shift in the education system. On the up side, systematic bullying is less acceptable. That's good. We talk about concepts like "empathy" and "self-esteem" and other very important things. Also good. But dear heavens, we expect a lotta control. Control of one's emotions, control of one's fidgetiness, control of one's attention, control of one's impulses, control (a toughie for many three-and-four-year-olds) of bladder and bowels, control of one's preadolescent sense of humour, six straight hours of perfect control, while executing someone else's agenda, which may or may not be any fun. Do-able for some kids, and for the others there's no shortage of blame and shame. For the kid, and also, of course, their parents, who clearly haven't done a very good job. Never mind kid -- your parents clearly messed up, but for you we have time-out chairs and behaviour-mod sticker charts at the ready. And if those don't turn you away from your criminal ways in short order, then you need a label. ODD, ADD, PDD-NOS... it seems that just being six years old (or five, or four, or three) is no longer sufficient explanation of your persistently childish behaviour.
Yes, yes, I do realize that there are diagnosable disorders and mental illnesses out there, and early help is key for helping those kids grow up to be the best and happiest selves they can be. And I also realize that many of you were traumatized by bona fide bullies who went out of their way to make your life a personal hell. But I live in the in-between zone, and somewhere along the way, "immature kid" turned into "bad kid". The Kid Who Makes Bad Choices.
This blog is my way to blow off steam as T.K. and I (and his father, and his sister) navigate our way through the school system, one day at a time. And also to extend a hand to other parents who dread seeing the school's number show up on the call display, who burn with frustration and shame when they overhear teachers, and other parents, and their perfectly-behaved-in-school offspring, talking about that kid.
That Kid.
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