Celebrating the Stuff that's Going Right

Today I opened the doors again on my classroom store, "The Hut." I open up shop about once a month or so. It would be fair to say that I sell junk in my shop. Dollar store stuff--goofy pencil toppers, tiny plastic pinball machines, miniature whoopy cushions, etc. The kind of stuff no sensible teacher allows kids to have at their desks. My students think it's fabulous. They can't wait for their turn to come up and spend the "money" they've been earning for homework completion, great behaviour, etc.

And as I watched them coming up one by one to spend their dollars, I had one of those moments--the kind where you stop and look around, as if time could be captured like a digital photo, and you could examine where you've been and where you're going. And it occurred to me that, as a class, we're getting somewhere.

It would be fair to say that my class struck me as a touch demoralized at the beginning of the year. In general, many of them came from fairly unsuccessful academic backgrounds, some from difficult family or economic situations. They had learned that it didn't matter whether they did their homework or not, or whether they stayed in their seats or not. And I played along, harranguing left and right, battling them at every turn, trying to get them to see that it did matter. It took me awhile to realize that the approach didn't work, not with this crew. They were used to being yapped at. You could practically see the film drift over their eyes while I lectured away at them. They were finished with that, had heard it all before.

So I stewed away one weekend, and came up with "The Hut." Introduced it on the Monday morning, saw homework completion shoot through the roof by the next day. In fact, in the last three months, we've gone from about 25% of the kids completing their work on average to about 95% . And the classroom atmosphere has become really lovely--they're nice kids to be around. All because they see a link, however tenuous, between performing certain behaviours and getting certain results. Fulfilling your obligations leads to a reward. It's not bad training for life, actually.

But that's not the great part. The great part is that every Friday, which is "payday," I get to go to each kid in turn and have a truly positive discussion about the past week. I get to congratulate them on what's gone right. We set goals together for what's going to go even better next week. And I think they get the sense that, within the four walls of our portable, it is completely possible for them to set a goal and meet it...and get a whoopy cushion on top of that. If they're not careful, some of them are even going to start getting engaged in their learning.

So I drove home tonight feeling great about it all. And was met at the door by a harried hubby and crazy-eyed Spilly, both stir-crazy beyond words. (Spilly started developing chicken pox last night, and couldn't go to school today. Hubby had to juggle work and child care.)

Spilly was wearing pants, a shirt, and a sundress. She had a huge floppy straw hat on, and at least one chunky necklace. She was barking.

"How are the pimples?" I said.

She waved them in my face. "I'm a space puppy! Does Sanjaya have a pimple on his finger? I was watching Raffi, and can we have ice cream for dessert?"

I could tell from Hubby's face that he was pretty much cooked. Spilly in a confined space for a sustained period of time becomes a potent force to reckoned with. Plus he was several hours behind in his work. He was no longer Feeling the Joy of Spilly. So I relieved him of his post.

"Come on in here," I said to Spilly.

We read some books. We were space dogs together. We pulled out all the DVDs and spread them around. Then we curled up together on the couch to watch part of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.

And she cuddled up next to me. "Mommy, I love you."

"I love you," I said. "Guess what? I love you even more than gold."

"But what if I was made of gold?"

"Hmm. Then I guess I'd really, really love you."

"But what if I turned back into just me, and I wasn't gold anymore?"

"I'd still love you the very best of anything."

And it occurred to me I was doing the same thing now, at home, as I'd been doing at school. Trying to get to the root of what's going right--trying to see the miracle underneath the craziness. Tuning in to the stuff that can get camouflaged by the frustrating nature of a cooped-up four-year-old, or a demoralized twelve-year-old.