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Thursday, August 4, 2011

Whatever you pay attention to, you reinforce

“…and Tippy had his legos, and we made a airplane, and Tippy flied his airplane over the playground…”

My eyes are on Landon as he careens his story about his (imaginary) brother around the room, arms waving, sound effects and facial expressions.  Then I hear behind me, “TEACHER”.  My eyes are fixed on Landon.  This time, more urgently, “TEACHER!  Look at me, Teacher”, comes a voice from across the room.  Again, my eyes remain fixed on Landon as his story veers off down a side street of his imagination.  I show him my continued interest in his tale.  Finally, the voice behind me is stilled.  A patter of feet approach from behind.  A gentle tap on the shoulder – more silence.
Landon pauses in his story, takes a breath and winds up to venture off in another exciting direction of his tale, when his eyes break from mine and glance behind me.  This is my chance – at last.  I break my eye contact with Landon to look behind me.  I see Hailey, standing still, watching me, waiting for me to look at her.  When I do, she says “Teacher, look at me on the slide.”  I smile at her and say “OK, just a minute please.”  Then I turn to Landon to ask him to excuse me for a moment while I watch Hailey show me something.  He’s amenable so I give my attention to Hailey.  Moments later, I may be back listening to Landon, playing a card game to which I was invited by Zachary or, preferably, standing at the side watching the children and letting my gaze lay softly and lovingly upon each one whose eyes meet mine.
This is a frequent scene from the early weeks of any group of children with whom I am working.  One of my first objectives in the class has to do with the mechanics of working together.  Shouting for my attention from across the room is not conducive to a harmonious group.  If I answer the shouting child, even to indicate to them to wait a moment, then I cheat the child who has my attention – by denigrating the value of what he has to say.  I cheat myself by acting like an impulsive bundle of reactivity rather than a deliberate and thoughtful agent in the environment, and I cheat the interrupting child by denying her a lesson in delay of gratification – one of the most important lessons for children.
It takes the consistent practice of only a couple of weeks for the children to learn that if they want my attention, then they must tap my shoulder gently and wait for my eyes to meet theirs.  Coaching and loving reminders are part of this process.  The skill being taught is no different than learning to ride a bicycle or swing a baseball bat effectively – repetition, demonstrations of the technique several times, practice, modeling and reminders are used to help an athlete perfect a skill.  Putting an athlete in time-out when they forget to place their feet properly or speaking blamefully or negatively does not build confidence in one’s ability either.  We say “Nice swing, now bring the right foot a little more forward and try again.  Terrific job!”
I constantly look for what the children are doing well, rather than pointing out what they are doing wrong.  For instance, Landon, Mommy and I needed to walk along a bit of sidewalk back to the classroom door.  The sidewalk bordered a busy street. Since we had already constantly practiced that Miss Ale’ always goes first (because she’s taller and the cars can see her better), I asked Landon “Who goes first?”  Landon points to me, but he is pushing his mom and whining to her to go in front of him.  She wants him to go first and he is becoming more and more frustrated.  Finally, I understand what he’s trying to make Mommy do.  Mommy’s becoming more frustrated too, because she wants Landon to go in front of her.  I call this tension between Mommy and child “Mama Drama”.
I have to find something positive to say but it’s a confusing and tense moment.  Finally, I say, “Wow, look how trustworthy Landon is.  He’s walking right behind you, Mom.  Isn’t he trustworthy?  Look, he’s walking right into the classroom.”  The mother mentions that he’s being so rude and nasty, so I say “But look!  He’s being very trustworthy.  He didn’t run away.  He went straight into the classroom.  It could’ve been much worse.”  She acknowledges that this indeed could be true, yet she feels helpless, perhaps embarrassed, to get Landon to do what she wants him to do.
Her language is filled with one of the most mis-used words when giving directions to young children – “Don’t”.  Don’t talk so loud.  Don’t open the door.  Don’t touch…Don’t take…Don’t say…
Any words that point out what not to do reinforces attention to the undesirable behavior.  Instead, tell them what you want to see more of, instead of what you want to see less of.  “I like how you’re walking right behind Mommy.  You’re very trustworthy.  You know how to walk safely on the sidewalk.”
Feel the difference?  Makes you want to do even better, doesn’t it?

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