“Rich kids” are American archetypes. They are brash and entitled, spoiled, self-centered and concerned only with their own pleasure. They are materialistic, shallow, and believe that the world revolves around them. While I am describing a stereotype, I have taught long enough to know that these kids exist. I also know that they need not be the product of wealthy families, but wealthy families have an easier time producing them.
Often, when I am traveling, I observe older teenagers in the airport, on their way to exotic and expensive vacations. I don’t know these kids but I wonder about them. I see them playing with their toys, throwing teenage tantrums, being rude and unaware. I wonder if I was one of those kids. I worry that my children will become like them too.
As a child, I never thought of myself as wealthy. I think that the air I breathed was so “rich” that I didn’t know what a rich or “non-rich” kid was. I have never driven a fancy car. I didn’t wear expensive clothing or have the latest gadgets. My house was neither extravagant nor enormous. I never saw myself as snobby or entitled. Yet others noticed: I came from money.
When I was in middle school, a new family moved next door. They immediately built a pool in their backyard. That didn’t shock me; my family had a tennis court. What did shock me was the way their children left their toys around. Their toys were awesome. I would have loved these expensive, often electronic, toys when I was their age. I knew this because I frequently found their toys in my backyard. At first, I would return them. Then I set them aside and waited to see if anyone came to collect them. No one did. Finally, I left them where they fell. These kids didn’t value these toys. They didn’t miss them when they were gone.
Stereotypically, rich kids have an air (heir?) of entitlement. They expect expensive toys to reappear after they have lost them. As a teacher, I have worked with children like this. They expect the good grade and are flabbergasted when I expect them to earn it. Families with resources sometimes have the expectation that all problems can be solved easily, quickly, and without non-monetary costs – and money can buy a lot. Their children see that it only takes a checkbook to make challenges vanish. And without challenges and struggle, real learning doesn’t exist.
If your every desire appears when you wish it (or even appears before you had the chance to wish it), then you are in a perpetual childhood. Your happiness depends on your parents providing and you are ineffectual. You have no intrinsic power and are dependent on external things to keep you happy. It must be frightening for a child to think, “without all this money, I can’t do anything and neither can my parents – and our happiness depends on it.”
Money is only a piece of the happiness puzzle. Granted, it is an important piece, but there are other critical factors that shape our lives and our children. The great author, Robert Heinlein said, “Do not handicap your children by making their lives easy.” Some well-to-do parents are concerned about “wealth poisoning:” that their money may rob their children of the motivation to achieve independently. My experience says that this concern should not be taken lightly. It has become a central piece of my parenting philosophy. I don’t want my children to fit any of that rich kid stereotype.
Providing our children the best of everything without any of the costs may be robbing them of real wealth. Good parenting requires a consciousness of how our need to provide for our kids will shape their outlooks on the world and thus their futures. We also need to look in the mirror and think about the lessons that our behavior teaches them.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Monday, December 13, 2010
Greater, Further, Harder, Meaner
I used to think that assigning more challenging work was the mark of a good teacher. It seemed to me that the kids most respected the tough teachers. Teachers in my department bragged about rigor. Teachers would look over each other’s shoulders and judge. Those who assigned fewer assignments or texts were lightweights and slouches. I didn’t want to be one of those!
The other day, as part of a school in-service, groups of teachers sat down and graded the same paper. Everyone had his or her own beef with the sample paper. There were dozens of ways the student writer didn’t measure up. It felt like a game of “can you top this.” I was so glad that the writer of the paper wasn’t in the room; he would have felt horrible.
Is that how kids feel when they get their papers back? Do they feel beaten up? Is that how kids feel in class, rigored and worked to death? Has the goal become greater, further, harder, meaner? I have become concerned that we are moving in that direction and it isn’t good for any of us.
My daughter has an unbelievable amount of homework and an overstuffed schedule. In some classes, she can have several hours of homework. For example, in her English class right now, she is working on a paper on the last book they finished, and reading the current book. In addition, she has an independent reading book and a project on another set of readings. That is four assignments at once – in only one class. In addition to her six other classes, she is a varsity athlete, member of the student council, orchestra and stage crew. She is busier than most adults I know, including those who are parents of teenagers!
Is all this work, all this intensity, and all this time making our children better students? By spending this kind of effort, our kids are learning the skills and scoring well on tests. Rigor works. That is why schools that are struggling use old fashioned drill strategies and cut out the “fluff.” But we all pay a price for that rigor.
The real question isn’t does it work, but is it worth it; is it making our children better people? That is the question I am asking myself as a teacher and as a dad. My child is stretched thinner than cellophane, but she can write well. She doesn’t get enough sleep and is frequently stressed out, but she performs well on tests. Is this healthy?
I can’t teach students how to write without assigning writing. Learning requires some degree of effort, but do we have to take a “no pain, no gain” approach? Can’t learning be fun? Can’t learning be balanced and healthy?
As educators and parents, we often judge our own effectiveness by our children’s success. That is both natural and problematic. Teachers and parents should be held accountable, of course. So do we get more gold stars or brownie points if our children have twelve activities instead of eight or scores in the 99th percentile instead of the 94th? How much is enough? We have been sucked into an increasing spiral of expectations for them and for us! We are never happy with our performance or theirs because we always want more, more, more!
The latest educational buzz word is “targets.” The idea is that the student is like an archer and it is our job to help him or her hit the bull’s-eye. But the bull is Argos and has a million eyes! A porcupine shooting all of its quills couldn’t hit all these targets. Each time we review the targets, we come up with more. The list is never ending and just thinking of it makes me tired and worried.
More is not always better. Harder work isn’t always more meaningful. We have caught ourselves in a rigor trap and it is eating our children’s childhoods and our sanity. It is time to look at the real targets: what do we want a student to learn? What should the school experience look like? How do we redesign school so that kids can be kids and still learn the really important things they need? It is time to name the important things, the real important things!
The other day, as part of a school in-service, groups of teachers sat down and graded the same paper. Everyone had his or her own beef with the sample paper. There were dozens of ways the student writer didn’t measure up. It felt like a game of “can you top this.” I was so glad that the writer of the paper wasn’t in the room; he would have felt horrible.
Is that how kids feel when they get their papers back? Do they feel beaten up? Is that how kids feel in class, rigored and worked to death? Has the goal become greater, further, harder, meaner? I have become concerned that we are moving in that direction and it isn’t good for any of us.
My daughter has an unbelievable amount of homework and an overstuffed schedule. In some classes, she can have several hours of homework. For example, in her English class right now, she is working on a paper on the last book they finished, and reading the current book. In addition, she has an independent reading book and a project on another set of readings. That is four assignments at once – in only one class. In addition to her six other classes, she is a varsity athlete, member of the student council, orchestra and stage crew. She is busier than most adults I know, including those who are parents of teenagers!
Is all this work, all this intensity, and all this time making our children better students? By spending this kind of effort, our kids are learning the skills and scoring well on tests. Rigor works. That is why schools that are struggling use old fashioned drill strategies and cut out the “fluff.” But we all pay a price for that rigor.
The real question isn’t does it work, but is it worth it; is it making our children better people? That is the question I am asking myself as a teacher and as a dad. My child is stretched thinner than cellophane, but she can write well. She doesn’t get enough sleep and is frequently stressed out, but she performs well on tests. Is this healthy?
I can’t teach students how to write without assigning writing. Learning requires some degree of effort, but do we have to take a “no pain, no gain” approach? Can’t learning be fun? Can’t learning be balanced and healthy?
As educators and parents, we often judge our own effectiveness by our children’s success. That is both natural and problematic. Teachers and parents should be held accountable, of course. So do we get more gold stars or brownie points if our children have twelve activities instead of eight or scores in the 99th percentile instead of the 94th? How much is enough? We have been sucked into an increasing spiral of expectations for them and for us! We are never happy with our performance or theirs because we always want more, more, more!
The latest educational buzz word is “targets.” The idea is that the student is like an archer and it is our job to help him or her hit the bull’s-eye. But the bull is Argos and has a million eyes! A porcupine shooting all of its quills couldn’t hit all these targets. Each time we review the targets, we come up with more. The list is never ending and just thinking of it makes me tired and worried.
More is not always better. Harder work isn’t always more meaningful. We have caught ourselves in a rigor trap and it is eating our children’s childhoods and our sanity. It is time to look at the real targets: what do we want a student to learn? What should the school experience look like? How do we redesign school so that kids can be kids and still learn the really important things they need? It is time to name the important things, the real important things!
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
The Teacher’s Best Teachers: His Students!
Students are powerful. They don’t realize their remarkable impact. We all have special teachers who touched our lives. We remember them and honor their influence. What we may not realize is that students are as critical in the shaping of teachers. Teachers carry the lessons learned from kids from class to class and year to year.
I have long chafed when a student refers to, “Mr. Hirsch’s class.” It is not mine. It is ours. Students see the teacher as the owner of the class, the master of ceremonies and, at best, they are supporting cast if not audience. Really, it is their class and I am merely the stage manager. When I make choices, I think of the students who taught me how to be a better teacher.
Nicole was my first “discipline” problem. She would much prefer to talk with Anna, fiddle with her books, make up or just about anything, rather than participate in class. It drove me bananas and she knew it. My attempts at reprimanding, refocusing or distracting her seemed to only fuel the fire. Then one day, instead of my usual policeman behavior, I just smiled at Nicole and shook my head.It worked! I found it hard to believe it was that simple. It worked over and over. And if I was not sharp enough to spot the lesson, Nicole made it clear to me when she replied to one of my grins, “That smile isn’t going to work this time, Mr. H. Not this time.” But it did. Smiles as part of discipline? Thank you, Nicole!
Danny was a traditional “kid in the middle.” He was not the brightest student in class but not the slowest. He was a nice young man but not the most (or least) talkative. He did not misbehave but did not draw a great deal of attention to himself. He happened to stop by in the writing lab one day. I pulled him into a conference on an assignment. From then on, Danny sought me out. He looked for that little bit of extra attention and ate it up. Traditionally, students with special talents or special needs receive special services but those wonderful kids in the middle are left with leftovers. Danny didn’t need special tutoring, he was doing fine. Danny didn’t take many honors or AP classes. But Danny loved the extra attention and thrived on it as much as any “special” student. Danny taught me that all students deserve, need, and desire that extra something. I think of him every time I make the effort to give every student his or her “Danny” time. Thank you, Danny.
It was the day before parent night and I jokingly looked at Jeremy. He was my challenge. Not disruptive, just overactive and talkative. Perhaps he might have been labeled ADD – but the label would have been wrong. I joked with him, as the period ended, that I was very eager to meet his parents at open house. “Well,” exclaimed Jeremy, “be sure to sit my dad over here,” he pointed to one end of the classroom, “ and my mom way over here,” he pointed to the opposite side, “because if you let them get together – BOOM!” Now it made sense. The out of control, attention seeking behavior that was so inappropriate in my classroom was the only way to get warring parents’ notice. Jeremy wasn’t ADD or anything else. He was simply bringing his home coping technique into class and it wasn’t working. When students’ behavior is set in context, they cease being behavior issues and become people trying strategies to make life manageable. Thank you, Jeremy.
I have become the lessons students have taught me. It is more than I am a better teacher – or person – I think they have molded me as much or more than I changed them. There is an old proverb that states that the teacher should learn as much from the students as the students from the teacher. I live this every day.
If I am a pretty good teacher, it is due, in large measure, to the fantastic students with whom I have studied. They have generously and unselfishly taught me what it means to learn and study. I have been allowed to glimpse the complexity of their world. Every day, every semester, year after year, they are with me and I am forever grateful to them.
I have long chafed when a student refers to, “Mr. Hirsch’s class.” It is not mine. It is ours. Students see the teacher as the owner of the class, the master of ceremonies and, at best, they are supporting cast if not audience. Really, it is their class and I am merely the stage manager. When I make choices, I think of the students who taught me how to be a better teacher.
Nicole was my first “discipline” problem. She would much prefer to talk with Anna, fiddle with her books, make up or just about anything, rather than participate in class. It drove me bananas and she knew it. My attempts at reprimanding, refocusing or distracting her seemed to only fuel the fire. Then one day, instead of my usual policeman behavior, I just smiled at Nicole and shook my head.It worked! I found it hard to believe it was that simple. It worked over and over. And if I was not sharp enough to spot the lesson, Nicole made it clear to me when she replied to one of my grins, “That smile isn’t going to work this time, Mr. H. Not this time.” But it did. Smiles as part of discipline? Thank you, Nicole!
Danny was a traditional “kid in the middle.” He was not the brightest student in class but not the slowest. He was a nice young man but not the most (or least) talkative. He did not misbehave but did not draw a great deal of attention to himself. He happened to stop by in the writing lab one day. I pulled him into a conference on an assignment. From then on, Danny sought me out. He looked for that little bit of extra attention and ate it up. Traditionally, students with special talents or special needs receive special services but those wonderful kids in the middle are left with leftovers. Danny didn’t need special tutoring, he was doing fine. Danny didn’t take many honors or AP classes. But Danny loved the extra attention and thrived on it as much as any “special” student. Danny taught me that all students deserve, need, and desire that extra something. I think of him every time I make the effort to give every student his or her “Danny” time. Thank you, Danny.
It was the day before parent night and I jokingly looked at Jeremy. He was my challenge. Not disruptive, just overactive and talkative. Perhaps he might have been labeled ADD – but the label would have been wrong. I joked with him, as the period ended, that I was very eager to meet his parents at open house. “Well,” exclaimed Jeremy, “be sure to sit my dad over here,” he pointed to one end of the classroom, “ and my mom way over here,” he pointed to the opposite side, “because if you let them get together – BOOM!” Now it made sense. The out of control, attention seeking behavior that was so inappropriate in my classroom was the only way to get warring parents’ notice. Jeremy wasn’t ADD or anything else. He was simply bringing his home coping technique into class and it wasn’t working. When students’ behavior is set in context, they cease being behavior issues and become people trying strategies to make life manageable. Thank you, Jeremy.
I have become the lessons students have taught me. It is more than I am a better teacher – or person – I think they have molded me as much or more than I changed them. There is an old proverb that states that the teacher should learn as much from the students as the students from the teacher. I live this every day.
If I am a pretty good teacher, it is due, in large measure, to the fantastic students with whom I have studied. They have generously and unselfishly taught me what it means to learn and study. I have been allowed to glimpse the complexity of their world. Every day, every semester, year after year, they are with me and I am forever grateful to them.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Bar Mitzvah Between the Lines
Please share our joy as our darling boy is called to the torah as a bar mitzvah. Never mind that he doesn’t really understand the words he is reading. He understands the story in general and will relate it to sports, his sister, and a Disney movie in his speech.
It is fine because we don’t speak Hebrew. We don’t even light candles or attend any services other than some of the high holidays and those are really boring. We are planning on quitting the congregation as soon as the dust settles on the eighteen dollar checks. That was what it took to get the kid to complete Hebrew school anyway. Only the promise of spending some of the cash for a new flat screen TV for his room could keep him going through that mind numbing routine.
Thank you so much for donating to his mitzvah project. Really, it was our mitzvah project. He didn’t do that much. It wasn’t worth any more begging and threatening; we had enough of that just getting this far. Besides, he is so busy with the sports and school and his friends. So all he ended up doing was an hour at the soup kitchen. They signed his form and he was out of there.
We’ll see you at the service. We are going to look great. The rabbi gave us the aliya blessings all written out in English transliterations so we can sound like we speak Hebrew. We should probably practice them. Not that we pray. Not that we really believe any of this stuff. We believe in god, of course. But we just don’t see the need to have all the bowing and reciting. I wish it were like Passover where we can just go right to the meal and skip all the mumbo jumbo. We are only doing this because…well…because we would feel left out. Our son would feel like something was missing if he didn’t have this experience. I didn’t stick with my religious education after my bar mitzvah, but maybe he will. Well, he won’t, but he could have.
Our celebration continues with a loud and expensive party on Saturday night. All we need is a bride and it could double as the kid’s wedding. It’ll be as big and as grand as anyone else’s party. We’ll have two hundred of our friends and almost as many kids. Don’t worry, they will be on the other side of the room and we’ll have hired dancers to give them gifts and keep them grinding away at each other. Consider bringing earplugs because the music has caused hearing loss and headaches.
The theme of the party is toys and games. Each table is one of our sons’ favorites. You’ll be sitting at iPod or maybe Xbox or Gameboy. Don’t worry, there won’t be anything from the service at the party. We’ll do a quick blessing over the bread and wine because we have this beautiful challah cover that my in-laws brought back from Israel that we need to use. After that, it is alcohol for the adults and fried foods for the kids!
We are giving away sweat suits with the kid’s name on them at the end of the night to all the kids. They will all wear them to school on Monday and make anyone who wasn’t there feel like complete losers.
Don’t hold your breath waiting for my kid’s thank you note. He may never get around to it. We’ve prewritten all the envelopes for him already and we may need to write the thank yous too. The best you’re going to get out of him is a quick, “Thanks for the generous gift. It was nice to see you.” He doesn’t know what you gave him and you won’t actually see him at the party. He’ll just hang out with a few of his friends and the dance staff. But he’s just a kid. Hopefully, we’ll see you for a moment or two.
We hope you can join us for this very important religious celebration. It wouldn’t be the same without you.
It is fine because we don’t speak Hebrew. We don’t even light candles or attend any services other than some of the high holidays and those are really boring. We are planning on quitting the congregation as soon as the dust settles on the eighteen dollar checks. That was what it took to get the kid to complete Hebrew school anyway. Only the promise of spending some of the cash for a new flat screen TV for his room could keep him going through that mind numbing routine.
Thank you so much for donating to his mitzvah project. Really, it was our mitzvah project. He didn’t do that much. It wasn’t worth any more begging and threatening; we had enough of that just getting this far. Besides, he is so busy with the sports and school and his friends. So all he ended up doing was an hour at the soup kitchen. They signed his form and he was out of there.
We’ll see you at the service. We are going to look great. The rabbi gave us the aliya blessings all written out in English transliterations so we can sound like we speak Hebrew. We should probably practice them. Not that we pray. Not that we really believe any of this stuff. We believe in god, of course. But we just don’t see the need to have all the bowing and reciting. I wish it were like Passover where we can just go right to the meal and skip all the mumbo jumbo. We are only doing this because…well…because we would feel left out. Our son would feel like something was missing if he didn’t have this experience. I didn’t stick with my religious education after my bar mitzvah, but maybe he will. Well, he won’t, but he could have.
Our celebration continues with a loud and expensive party on Saturday night. All we need is a bride and it could double as the kid’s wedding. It’ll be as big and as grand as anyone else’s party. We’ll have two hundred of our friends and almost as many kids. Don’t worry, they will be on the other side of the room and we’ll have hired dancers to give them gifts and keep them grinding away at each other. Consider bringing earplugs because the music has caused hearing loss and headaches.
The theme of the party is toys and games. Each table is one of our sons’ favorites. You’ll be sitting at iPod or maybe Xbox or Gameboy. Don’t worry, there won’t be anything from the service at the party. We’ll do a quick blessing over the bread and wine because we have this beautiful challah cover that my in-laws brought back from Israel that we need to use. After that, it is alcohol for the adults and fried foods for the kids!
We are giving away sweat suits with the kid’s name on them at the end of the night to all the kids. They will all wear them to school on Monday and make anyone who wasn’t there feel like complete losers.
Don’t hold your breath waiting for my kid’s thank you note. He may never get around to it. We’ve prewritten all the envelopes for him already and we may need to write the thank yous too. The best you’re going to get out of him is a quick, “Thanks for the generous gift. It was nice to see you.” He doesn’t know what you gave him and you won’t actually see him at the party. He’ll just hang out with a few of his friends and the dance staff. But he’s just a kid. Hopefully, we’ll see you for a moment or two.
We hope you can join us for this very important religious celebration. It wouldn’t be the same without you.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Big Boys in Little Leagues
My son just received his park district basketball team assignment and it has me wondering. While I have seen great value in these community sports programs, I am concerned about the way the teams are put together. As an educator and a parent, I have some questions about the way these organizations function. I wonder if the jury-rigging of the teams is really for the kids’ benefit or for the glory of the adults who coach them.
Each time a coach calls our house or the email arrives with a schedule and roster, my son’s first question is, “Who is on my team?” As we move from game to game, the composition of the teams is always an interesting and sometimes disturbing revelation. I am a classroom teacher and I know how difficult it is to put together “even” groups. Kids change and grow. A mediocre player one season may turn into a strong player the next. Yet, I have never been in a league where the distribution of kids was balanced.
Most of the leagues in our community use a draft to put together teams. Of course the coaches’ kids are on their team. This gives coaches a great deal of control of the team and clearly creates customized groups. There are seven boys my son’s grade in our neighborhood. He has been in class with all of them throughout the years. However, for all the team sports he has played and all the teams he has been on, he has only been with one of these boys on one team – ever! All of these boys have been in most, if not all of the same leagues. We are talking about twice as many teams than classes at school. How is this possible?
So my child gets to make new friends. So my child is not as proficient in sports as these other boys. Each season, these boys’ teams, the ones their fathers coach, are the fantastic teams. They are the teams that have several very athletically talents kids. They are the teams that have three skilled pitchers, or boys who are very tall, or extra older boys. While every coach will tell you that winning is not the focus, learning is the focus, the team composition reveals the truth of the matter.
My kids have had a wide range of coaches and all of them have been well intentioned. However, some have been more skilled than others. Only some are good at communicating with parents. Only a handful are good at connecting with the kids. And very few are good coaches. Not that long ago, we had a coach who made sure that each player got to try each position frequently. He had a line up ready in advance and printed out and posted on the fence. The strongest and weakest players all got chances to be in the “plum” spots. He affirmed all the children and complimented them far more than he pointed out problems. When he did point out issues, he instructed and demonstrated. He was not a professional teacher but I think he may have missed his calling. His gentle shouts from the bench were ones of encouragement and praise. The composition of the team was secondary, the coach made sure of that. However, this is the exception far more than the rule.
Children’s sports can teach so many important lessons. They can teach kids about exercise and teamwork. They can be about navigating relationships and learning skills. They can be a balance to the intensity of academic study. Or they can be about doing what it takes to win and learning who is on top and who sucks. Kids (and some adults) might make it about the later. It is adults’ obligation to guide them to the former. Can we let go of grabbing the “good” kids? Can we put the skill need before the social need? Can winning take a back seat to fair play and love of the game? Community sports programs: please put the children’s needs first!
Each time a coach calls our house or the email arrives with a schedule and roster, my son’s first question is, “Who is on my team?” As we move from game to game, the composition of the teams is always an interesting and sometimes disturbing revelation. I am a classroom teacher and I know how difficult it is to put together “even” groups. Kids change and grow. A mediocre player one season may turn into a strong player the next. Yet, I have never been in a league where the distribution of kids was balanced.
Most of the leagues in our community use a draft to put together teams. Of course the coaches’ kids are on their team. This gives coaches a great deal of control of the team and clearly creates customized groups. There are seven boys my son’s grade in our neighborhood. He has been in class with all of them throughout the years. However, for all the team sports he has played and all the teams he has been on, he has only been with one of these boys on one team – ever! All of these boys have been in most, if not all of the same leagues. We are talking about twice as many teams than classes at school. How is this possible?
So my child gets to make new friends. So my child is not as proficient in sports as these other boys. Each season, these boys’ teams, the ones their fathers coach, are the fantastic teams. They are the teams that have several very athletically talents kids. They are the teams that have three skilled pitchers, or boys who are very tall, or extra older boys. While every coach will tell you that winning is not the focus, learning is the focus, the team composition reveals the truth of the matter.
My kids have had a wide range of coaches and all of them have been well intentioned. However, some have been more skilled than others. Only some are good at communicating with parents. Only a handful are good at connecting with the kids. And very few are good coaches. Not that long ago, we had a coach who made sure that each player got to try each position frequently. He had a line up ready in advance and printed out and posted on the fence. The strongest and weakest players all got chances to be in the “plum” spots. He affirmed all the children and complimented them far more than he pointed out problems. When he did point out issues, he instructed and demonstrated. He was not a professional teacher but I think he may have missed his calling. His gentle shouts from the bench were ones of encouragement and praise. The composition of the team was secondary, the coach made sure of that. However, this is the exception far more than the rule.
Children’s sports can teach so many important lessons. They can teach kids about exercise and teamwork. They can be about navigating relationships and learning skills. They can be a balance to the intensity of academic study. Or they can be about doing what it takes to win and learning who is on top and who sucks. Kids (and some adults) might make it about the later. It is adults’ obligation to guide them to the former. Can we let go of grabbing the “good” kids? Can we put the skill need before the social need? Can winning take a back seat to fair play and love of the game? Community sports programs: please put the children’s needs first!
Friday, October 8, 2010
Fostering Children's Autonomy
My nine-year-old son sat at the kitchen table and looked like he was about to cry. In front of him was a luscious piece of chocolate cake in a plastic container. For ten minutes, he struggled to get the container open. Behind him was his frazzled grandmother, with her hands extended to relieve the little guy of his frustration and give him the delicious dessert. The mean and evil father (me) had prevented her from helping by uttering the simple words, “Let him do it himself.”
Yes, it would have been easier to just open the box for my son. Yes, he would have been happier if his grandmother had rushed to his rescue. He would have adored his daddy even more than he did when I gave him the special dessert. So what is the downside of helping a little kid open a difficult container? Everything.
I want a great deal for my children. Of course I want them to be happy. It would be nice if they had good feelings about their parents. But more than these, I want them to grow up to be competent, contributing, independent adults. Problem solving is the heart of autonomy. Self-respect and confidence are its offspring. This is the core of what I believe as a parent and as a teacher. My prime directive is: Do nothing that undercuts the independence of the child. Or put in the positive: do everything possible to foster the child’s ability to be self-reliant.
How do our children learn that they have power? What is the nature of that power? Too often, we see children manipulating adults, often their parents or teachers. Screams of, “I hate you!” or “You don’t love me” are a kind of emotional blackmail and kids learn its effectiveness. Shows of helplessness, tears, and tantrums frequently succeed in getting children out of challenging situations. What have we taught them?
Children learn that their power consists of manipulating us to use our power on their behalf; it must be begged, stolen or tricked from us. They do not have any power inherently. Is that what we want? Is that true? Is that good?
Where does self worth come from? It comes from competence! We may assist our children in solving problem and guide them to solutions, but when we do it for them, we are robbing them of the experience of learning how to problem solve.
Instead of doing the homework for my daughter, I asked her questions about it. I helped her find her own method of problem solving and her own solutions, which were not the ones I would have chosen but they worked just the same. I helped her to figure out the steps instead of telling her what they were. It took some time and lots of patience, but the end result was a child who felt good that she met the challenge and could do it without daddy’s help the next time (which she did!).
We rationalize coming to our children’s rescue. They are so busy, the task is unreasonable, he is so stressed, it makes my life better and on and on. Underneath all of these excuses is that same set of parent centered values: it serves my needs, I want my child to like me, or perhaps it will make my child happier (at least in the short run). These are short sighted, selfish and superficial.
There are times when opening the child’s cake container is what a parent must do. I am not 100% consistent and almost every rule has an exception. However, it is the larger pattern that shapes our kids. Do they expect that, when they run into trouble, they will be bailed out? Do they take initiative and anticipate challenges that may be ahead of them? Do they rely on parental power or do they develop their own?
I quietly coached my son, “You tried that way of opening the box already. What is another way you might open it?” I encouraged him to see how other people had opened their boxes. I gave him time to be frustrated. Yes, he opened the box himself, although it felt like it took a year. Then, he looked up and said, “I can!”
Yes, it would have been easier to just open the box for my son. Yes, he would have been happier if his grandmother had rushed to his rescue. He would have adored his daddy even more than he did when I gave him the special dessert. So what is the downside of helping a little kid open a difficult container? Everything.
I want a great deal for my children. Of course I want them to be happy. It would be nice if they had good feelings about their parents. But more than these, I want them to grow up to be competent, contributing, independent adults. Problem solving is the heart of autonomy. Self-respect and confidence are its offspring. This is the core of what I believe as a parent and as a teacher. My prime directive is: Do nothing that undercuts the independence of the child. Or put in the positive: do everything possible to foster the child’s ability to be self-reliant.
How do our children learn that they have power? What is the nature of that power? Too often, we see children manipulating adults, often their parents or teachers. Screams of, “I hate you!” or “You don’t love me” are a kind of emotional blackmail and kids learn its effectiveness. Shows of helplessness, tears, and tantrums frequently succeed in getting children out of challenging situations. What have we taught them?
Children learn that their power consists of manipulating us to use our power on their behalf; it must be begged, stolen or tricked from us. They do not have any power inherently. Is that what we want? Is that true? Is that good?
Where does self worth come from? It comes from competence! We may assist our children in solving problem and guide them to solutions, but when we do it for them, we are robbing them of the experience of learning how to problem solve.
Instead of doing the homework for my daughter, I asked her questions about it. I helped her find her own method of problem solving and her own solutions, which were not the ones I would have chosen but they worked just the same. I helped her to figure out the steps instead of telling her what they were. It took some time and lots of patience, but the end result was a child who felt good that she met the challenge and could do it without daddy’s help the next time (which she did!).
We rationalize coming to our children’s rescue. They are so busy, the task is unreasonable, he is so stressed, it makes my life better and on and on. Underneath all of these excuses is that same set of parent centered values: it serves my needs, I want my child to like me, or perhaps it will make my child happier (at least in the short run). These are short sighted, selfish and superficial.
There are times when opening the child’s cake container is what a parent must do. I am not 100% consistent and almost every rule has an exception. However, it is the larger pattern that shapes our kids. Do they expect that, when they run into trouble, they will be bailed out? Do they take initiative and anticipate challenges that may be ahead of them? Do they rely on parental power or do they develop their own?
I quietly coached my son, “You tried that way of opening the box already. What is another way you might open it?” I encouraged him to see how other people had opened their boxes. I gave him time to be frustrated. Yes, he opened the box himself, although it felt like it took a year. Then, he looked up and said, “I can!”
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Frustration and Learning
One night, not long ago, my daughter was in tears over an upcoming test. However, when she first came home from school, she was cavalier about it. She said she knew the material and it was no big deal. She waltzed to the television and plopped herself down. After dinner, she started what she thought was a perfunctory study session. No such luck. She found that the test was going to be on more than the material covered in the last few days of class. In fact, it was material that the teacher never taught! Even with the help of friends, she could not figure it out.
She emailed the teacher, who sent her some instructions. Problem solved, right? Wrong. My daughter’s response was that, although she now had the tools to attack the issue, she wasn’t sure she could do it on her own, let alone manage it under the stressful conditions of a test.
As a teacher, I was upset. Why test kids on material you haven’t taught? What does that prove? Why ask kids to teach themselves complex and difficult material. When she took the test, the teacher decided not to include the skills that caused my daughter such difficulties! All this fuss for nothing!
As a teacher, I am not perfect. I have written unclear instructions. I try new things in every class I teach and some of these work out wonderfully. Some of these end up a good first draft but need revision. While I am fanatical about planning and timing, I have had times where even my best-laid plans have been caught in the mousetrap.
I hope that experiences like these make me both a better teacher and a better dad. In elementary school, my kids had a thirty-minute rule. If they struggled with something for thirty minutes and could not understand it, then they could stop and talk to the teacher the next day. Could I have a similar rule? Could there be some kind of emergency cord that kids could pull when they get to the end of their ropes? How could I create something like that for my students.
A little frustration fosters growth. Learning only occurs when we reach the end of “I know how” and step off! However, too much frustration stifles learning. The difference between the two depends on each child. Some children will stick with a challenging task and thrive. Others are not as hearty and cannot cope with that same amount of frustration. One size never fits them all. Dealing with this learning process is a skill. If we rob students of all of the frustration, we will also rob them of their learning and their independence.
If we are doing our jobs well as teachers and parents, we are helping our students to independently cope with school challenges. We are providing them resources and skills to problem solve and manage both their workloads and emotions. A discussion about “what do we do when we can’t figure out the homework” would be helpful in class and at home.
This may be more valuable than the skills taught in any one subject. The ability to manage stress and frustration, to persist and stick with a difficult task, and to use learning resources is the curriculum that really counts!
That teacher whose test brought my child to tears may have, inadvertently, done some good. But I can do better. I may still be the villain at someone’s dinner table, but I must teach my kids, both at home and at school, how to face the inevitable high school challenges.
She emailed the teacher, who sent her some instructions. Problem solved, right? Wrong. My daughter’s response was that, although she now had the tools to attack the issue, she wasn’t sure she could do it on her own, let alone manage it under the stressful conditions of a test.
As a teacher, I was upset. Why test kids on material you haven’t taught? What does that prove? Why ask kids to teach themselves complex and difficult material. When she took the test, the teacher decided not to include the skills that caused my daughter such difficulties! All this fuss for nothing!
As a teacher, I am not perfect. I have written unclear instructions. I try new things in every class I teach and some of these work out wonderfully. Some of these end up a good first draft but need revision. While I am fanatical about planning and timing, I have had times where even my best-laid plans have been caught in the mousetrap.
I hope that experiences like these make me both a better teacher and a better dad. In elementary school, my kids had a thirty-minute rule. If they struggled with something for thirty minutes and could not understand it, then they could stop and talk to the teacher the next day. Could I have a similar rule? Could there be some kind of emergency cord that kids could pull when they get to the end of their ropes? How could I create something like that for my students.
A little frustration fosters growth. Learning only occurs when we reach the end of “I know how” and step off! However, too much frustration stifles learning. The difference between the two depends on each child. Some children will stick with a challenging task and thrive. Others are not as hearty and cannot cope with that same amount of frustration. One size never fits them all. Dealing with this learning process is a skill. If we rob students of all of the frustration, we will also rob them of their learning and their independence.
If we are doing our jobs well as teachers and parents, we are helping our students to independently cope with school challenges. We are providing them resources and skills to problem solve and manage both their workloads and emotions. A discussion about “what do we do when we can’t figure out the homework” would be helpful in class and at home.
This may be more valuable than the skills taught in any one subject. The ability to manage stress and frustration, to persist and stick with a difficult task, and to use learning resources is the curriculum that really counts!
That teacher whose test brought my child to tears may have, inadvertently, done some good. But I can do better. I may still be the villain at someone’s dinner table, but I must teach my kids, both at home and at school, how to face the inevitable high school challenges.
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