One of my students this year came from another school. He arrived in January. And immediately, he was trouble. When I say he 'was' trouble, I mean that he embodied trouble; he sought it out; he raced towards it like moths to flame; and he loved it, he loved it, he loved it. he loved the rep it gave him, the status it gave him, the circle of like-minded friends it gave him. If I described him to another student they knew who I was talking about without my even having to say his name, he was that good at building his rep for being trouble, being disrespectful, being that student who just didn't give a shit. And he was proud of it.
Every day he would come into the classroom late. He wouldn't slide in quietly. No, that wasn't good enough for his rep. He would strut in, loudly announcing to another kid in the class the highlights of his day, such as, "Oh, I just got my helmet today!" referring to the day he was introduced to the football team (probably as a last resort. I've never heard of a student carrying a 30% average being allowed to play on a school team) or the day some other kid stepped up to him, or the day he said he was going to throw down outside the school. All kinds of stuff, announced loudly across the room.
Every day that he walked in like that I sent him out with a do-over: "you can come back in respectfully, not disturbing the lesson, or anyone in the class."
And nearly every day, that's the game we played.
Miraculously, this kid could miss half the classes, screw around during class time, never crack a book, fall asleep (which is what he did when he had no one in the class to talk to) but when it came time to take a test on the topic, he would easily score in the 80's and sometimes higher.
I pulled him aside. I told him how smart he was. "You hear things. You are an auditorial learner."
"Huh?" he asked.
"You learn and take in information primarily through what you hear."
"Oh. Yeah," he said, and he kept looking at me. I had his attention. I understood how he learned. Here was a kid who needed to move around and do other things while in the meantime, listen to what was going on and what others were talking about.
"You're certainly not looking at the information. And you never crack a book. You barely pick up a pencil, but you get 80's or higher. Because you learn through what you hear." he was engaged. he was listening. This time, to me.
I designed lessons to provide additional access to the learning through audio. Audible and pre-recorded you tube recordings of books on tape are a great resource. The kid learned. During class discussion his hand shot up. he called out. He didn't understand the etiquette of classroom behavior and respect - didn't get the idea of taking turns - but the kid knew his stuff and didn't have the patience for someone else to come up with it.
But, peer pressure and a school rep is strong when you're 16. His behavior spiraled downward again towards the end of the year, when most kids lose interest. But this guy, he could lose interest in special ways. One day I had to talk to him privately.
"You stopped coming to class."
"And your being disruptive and not doing anything again."
"School's whack, yo. It's stupid. I ain't learning nothin' here."
"You're not learning anything," I corrected him, always the teacher.
"That's what I said!"
"So, what's the plan?"
"What plan?" he asked.
"The plan. What are you going to do? With your life? You're 16. You can work. You can drive. You don't want to come to school, so... what else are you going to do?"
"Oh, you know... I dunno... sell weed. Work. Live with my Mom's."
"You think your mother's gonna let you live on her couch doing nothing? I met her. She will throw your ass outta the house!"
"Naawwhh," he drawled.
"So, you got no education, you're gonna sell weed and do some kind of job. Where does that lead?"
He said it like it was memorized: "Jails... institutions... or dead...."
I nodded, "right. That what'chu want?"
He shrugged it off so I kept going. He was staring at the floor, the walls, anything but at me.
"Hey, tough guy. You disrespect what everybody's trying to do here, but you're not man enough to hold your head up and look me in the eye?"
He lifted his head. Now we were eye to eye. He wasn't as tall as me, but he was muscular and trim. If he wanted to get physical, he'd put up a good fight. I didn't want to think that way, but I had to. You have to when you're dealing with a kid on the edge. They feel like they've got nothing to lose, and that is a dangerous mindset for an opponent.
"What are you waiting for? You got it all planned out. Why are here? You don't need a license to sell drugs. There's no age requirement. You wanna live that life? You think you'll look good in a shit-brown jump suit that says State Prison on it, go ahead. Go for it. But what are you wasting your time for here?"
He didn't answer, but he held my eyes in his. It was a staring contest. And I took the bait.
"Look, I'm not talking to you teacher to student now. This is person to person. I know guys who went the route you're on. And I've been to their funerals. You wanna run the streets? Be a hot shot out there? When you're mother's waiting at home for you? Go for it. But know that you're running into a war zone. Kids like you die every day doing the shit you're glorifying in your head right now. You told me your own old man got shot down dealing on the corner. Just like that dude who came to speak to our school, the one on the crutches. 6 shots in the back. And your old man's crippled for life. And you think this is a fucking path to glory. Are you serious?"
Still, no words from him. Still, he held my eyes. But his nostrils were twitching - a sign he was nervous, maybe even scared.
"I've been there," I said. "I've seen kids arrested. I've been arrested. Cops don't play. It's not a game to them. Your dealing means that someone's kid - someone they know - will be a victim and they will rain hell down on you. They will blame you for every kid that ever died from drugs. And so will the judges. And so will the other inmates who decide that you're good looking enough from behind to satisfy them for the night. And the next. And the next. An the next."
His nostrils were flickering wildly now.
"I'm not trying to scare you, but I am telling you the truth. You are a smart kid! You have gifts that these other kids in there don't have. Some of those other kids try super hard to do well and don't have the natural intelligence that you do. They have to work for it. And they do. Fo you, it comes easy, if you let it." I paused. "What is so bad about success?"
This time I waited for his answer.
"Are you afraid of being smart? Afraid of standing out by doing well in school?"
He shrugged. Looked down at his feet.
"Look at me," I repeated. "You have it all. You've got what it takes. And I will believe in you until you start believing in yourself." To this he nodded.
"Now, I don't expect you to suddenly be super star student, but while you're trying to figure all this shit out, let me do my job. You... just lay low. Keep a low profile. You don't have to figure it out, but think about what you love to do, and then make that your purpose. Maybe that's football. Maybe it's money. You'll know. But don't throw your life away. 'Cause that's just a waist."
Things turned around after that. He laid low. He wasn't intent on causing trouble. He didn't come to class much either. And I could only hope that he wasn't out on the streets trying to deal drugs like his dad did, hoping for a shower of bullets to point him in the direction of motivational speaker.
All I can do is try. But I do know that briefly... briefly... I had him. For a moment, he was listening.
How One Student Mastered Their Own Mindset
Meet Ricksen Opont. He’s a muscular, baby-faced 20 year-old with a soft voice. When Ricksen was in my 7th grade English class, he was a small shy kid who could barely speak for fear of ridicule. Now, Ricksen carries himself with a humble confidence. He has a passion for helping kids find their inner strength and overcome challenges in their life. And it’s no surprise that he’s good at it. He’s been there. And he mastered the mindset to succeed.
Ricksen was born and raised in Haiti where “education was exclusive and expensive…. If you wanted it, you had to pay.” Ricksen’s mother “worked hard so that [he] could have a good education.”
Teachers in Haiti “gave us a list of words every night. Up to 2 or 3 chapters of vocabulary to memorize.”. The next day they had to recite by memory every word. Ricksen recalls, “the number of words we got wrong is the number of times they beat us.”
Ricksen was sent to live with another, wealthier host family where he attended a ‘better’ school. Ricksen visited his mother on weekends. Separation from his mother was hard. He cried as he left her, every time.
At nine years old, his mother put Ricksen on a plane and sent him to live with an older sister and her husband in Florida so that he could ‘get a better life and a better education.’ Ricksen cried the entire trip and many times when he was in Florida. He never felt acceptance in his older sister’s home. He felt unloved much of the time. Feelings of low self-esteem grew in him. He shaved his eyebrows as a signal that he “felt unloved.”
Ricksen’s only language up to this point was the creole patois of Haitian French. Ricksen was terrified to attend an American school. But on his way to his first day of school the phone rang. His mother asked Ricksen if he would rather live with his father, in New York. Ricksen had been in touch with his dad but rarely seen him. Without hesitation, he said yes and headed north.
Ricksen attended elementary school in Nyack, NY as an ESL student - English as a Second Language. Coming from his the strict, discipline-focused schools of Haiti, he was immediately aware of the difference in educational approach that his new teachers offered. “The teacher’s were like totally different than the way I was brought up so I took advantage of that right away. I mean, I was eager to learn,” Ricksen recounts, his eyes looking up and out with fondness. His work ethic helped him “[pick] up English very quickly. Within 5 or 6 months (he) could have a conversation,” even though his grammar still needed work. But he noticed that his teachers “were more concerned making sure that students actually were learning.”
By 5th grade, Ricksen realized that he was a different learner than other kids. “I knew I was capable,” he says, and he wanted it. Badly: “I ask a lot of questions for clarity, then I attack the task. If a teacher helps me get started, then I am good to go,” he says.
Ricksen realized that he did not have to be too dependent on the teacher or anyone else if he knew what to do. All he had to do was ask enough questions to get there. For a shy kid, Ricksen discovered the power of being his own advocate: when in doubt ask.
“One thing I do need,” he said, “is the reassurance of the teacher that I’m going in the right direction.” For Ricksen, the feeling of being unloved at home in his sister’s house, separated from his mother, carried over into the classroom where he craved the acknowledgement that he was okay. He needed validation, and once he had that, he was fine.
“Teachers are so important,” Ricksen points out. “They lift people up. They give kids hope.”
And then, Ricksen entered middle school. “Being from a different culture made me different from other kids,” said. “I got bullied and made fun of because I was from Haiti and for no other reason.”
Ricksen recalls that his lack of self-esteem kicked in because he lacked confidence. He was nervous and shy. Like many kids, he was a “visual and hands on learner.” If he could watch “someone else do it [he could] do it [himself]” or if someone physically walked him through the steps of a task, he could carry on from there.
However, Ricksen “realized he was different [from other students] because he had a good work ethic” and this helped to separate him from the crowd. “I started getting good grades when I applied myself. School and sports helped me escape the bullying and gave me the confidence to deal with other things…. It showed me that I think differently.”
Imagine, just having a good work ethic separated him from his other classmates.
More importantly, a solid work ethic attracted influential teachers, some of whom had a huge impact on Ricksen. His ESL teacher in middle school refused to accept ‘lesser’ as an option. She wanted to “make sure they would be ready for general education classes’ when they left ESL. She was very demanding, but at the same time, very encouraging. The perfect kind of teacher for Ricksen’s learning needs, and a great match for his work-ethic.
In 7th grade, Ricksen entered my English class. He was small and shy. A sweet boy who wanted to please. He sat in the back of the class and often worked alone. And he worked hard. His writing was sparse, but passionate. For a 7th grade poetry assignment all the students had to recite their poem in front of the class. Public speaking is a difficult but necessary skill to learn. For some kids, taking the stage and moving the crowd comes easy. But not for a shy boy, coming right out of ESL classes with self-esteem and confidence issues.
I loved what he had written and I told him as much. His message was deep and inspiring. It was, of course, a poem about the power of love. All he had to do was read it.
Ricksen got up in front of the class, his big eyes, wide with fear. He looked out over the sea of his classmates, all eager to hear what he had to say. It was daunting and he was petrified. Ricksen started to cry out of nervousness. So, I did something I almost never do. I got up, stood beside him, and let him know he was cared for and it would be okay. Ricksen was crying. I was crying. And when he was done, the class gave him a standing ovation. It was one of the most beautiful moments of my teaching career.
“There will always be a time when you are afraid,” Ricksen says, “but it teaches you that you can overcome those times and become a stronger person.”
The confidence that grew from that experience led Ricksen to make a bold and brave move. For his 11th grade English class, Ricksen signed up for honors, a more demanding class with a heavier course load.. After the first semester of procrastinating and underestimating the course expectations, Ricksen was failing. His teacher suggested that he downgrade to a less challenging class.
Ricksen said, “No.” To leave was to quit, and Ricksen knew he “could not quit on himself.” He told his teacher that he knew honors would be hard, but he wanted the push, and he was willing to do whatever it took.
For every assignment, every essay, he went to his teacher for help. He asked the questions he needed to ask and he attacked each task. It was just a matter of effort and desire.
Still, some texts were too challenging. So with the teacher’s assistance, Ricksen used audiobooks to listen and read. That’s how this Haitian born young man conquered Grapes of Wrath.
Perhaps most influential in Ricksen’s growth is his coach and mentor, Jose St. Victor, better known as St. Vic. St. Vic cultivated in Ricksen the mind of a champion. They were always together in high school and often, when asked if Ricksen was his son, “he would say yes,” Ricksen recalls.
St. Vic developed Ricksen into work-out fiend. He lifted weights for track, where he threw shot-put, javelin and discuss, among other sports. Ricksen excelled and continues to compete at the college level.
Today, Ricksen wants to help other kids find their passion and their inner strength. After finding his own path through the help of others he seeks to pass on his positive outlook to kids who need it. He regularly posts inspirational messages on his social media accounts. He said, if he can do it, anyone can. It’s a great life, you just have to go out and get after it. It’s a choice. And I choose to succeed.
Whichever direction I drive in when I leave my home I invariably drive past a cemetery. That is to say, there is a number of cemeteries around and whichever direction I drive in I will pass one of them. It’s not as if there is only one cemetery that I go out of my way to pass no matter the direction. Neither is there a ‘floating’ cemetery that plants itself by the side of whichever road I travel.
That would be weird.
There’s a fairly large cemetery off of Oregon road, near Peekskill, NY. We pass it often. Usually we pass it slowly. We pass it slowly because Oregon is a two lane route from our small town to the bigger town nearby. It has a 30 mph speed limit that many people take very seriously. More than a few drivers err on the side of extra caution and stay below 30mph – like 25 or 20. These drivers annoy me to death… pun intended.
Some of the graves in the cemetery have glow-in-the-dark crosses. Yes, that’s right, I said that some of the gravestones in the cemetery have glow-in-the-dark crosses on them. When we drive past the cemetery at night, those glow-n-the dark crosses seem to be hovering over the graves they are marking.
Some kids get creeped out by them. I am one of those kids. So is my son.
At the time of this story, my son was 5 or 6.
The idea of the grave and the gravestone piqued his magical curiosity. We did not talk about cemeteries much. He had not yet needed to attend any funerals. He was not acquainted with death, not up close. And on this day, a very slow driver in a rage-red, rusting Honda Accord was causing a long line of very annoyed drivers cars to have to stare longer than they wished to at the cemetery and the gravestones.
Everything about a cemetery is quiet. Nothing speaks. Flowers that are planted grow silently. The markings and dates on each gravestone says everything that the stone has to say. The graves age is represented in the fragility and thinness of each stone, the way they lean, or don’t, and in which direction. It’s easy to get sucked into its solemn serenity.
A woman was kneeling by a grave. She wore a hat and was patting the ground. I was staring at the red Honda up ahead, wondering when its driver would discover the gas pedal and speed the hell up.
My 6 year old son spoke to me without looking away from the cemetery.
“Why do they have those stones there?” he asked as we trolled past.
“Those stones are markers for where people are buried,” I explained. I wasn’t sure if t for my six year old. Was there a right way to field that question from a curious, sensitive boy?
And by right, I mean, was I doing a good job as a dad? Or was I going to fail?
This seemed like one of those key ‘daddy’ moments. A pre-‘Father-Son’ talk about death. Like a warm up talk before we had to have a more serious talk, like if somebody we knew actually died.
I wasn’t ready for the warm up. I could have used a warm up talk for the warm up talk.
“Are they buried in the ground?”
“Yes. They are,” I said. I explained that people can be buried in the ground, but that there were other ways of sending someone off into the next world or the next , but in a way, we all end up returning to the ground somehow. That was too much information for his young mind. They take in so much. So much.
I wanted the red Honda to move. I wanted to get to where I was going.
“What’s heaven?” he asked, throwing me a typical curve ball.
Our family does not do religion. I was raised a Jew but stopped practicing the religion due to issues with hypocrisy between the behavior and beliefs that were preached and the behavior and beliefs that were actually practiced. And it has occurred to me since that the practice of religion - any religion - is regarded as something to be attained in time. It seemed to me that ost people- in fact just about everybody - was content to take a really long time on that one. So for me, and for my family, being Jewish is about lox and bagels, and spending time with those we love.
My wife had no religious foundation as a child. Her father rejected religion while her mother practiced quietly, almost secretly, on her own. It was not passed on as a practice to my wife or perhaps she just chose to leave it behind. Consequently, we did not raise our children under any religious faith or guidelines. We taught them to be good people and to treat others with respect and kindness. We never spoke about a heaven or a hell. So my son had no clue what heaven was, but he had heard the term. He knew that Heaven and death were related.
“Heaven is a place that some people believe we go after we die.”
He got quiet. He watched the cemetery, watched the woman pat the ground, her head bowed, her body shaking. He watched the woman rise and stand. Birds flew over the cemetery, circled around a group of tombs, and settled in. We had moved less than a mile in this conversation so far. Worst drivers, ever!!
He remained quiet; pensive, actually. My son has a look, it’s a long stare, when he’s pensive.
“Daddy… is heaven underground?”
Was it? I thought Hell was underground. But then if I told him that Hell was below and Heaven was above, how much sense would it make to a little boy that they put people under the ground so that they could rise above it?
At this point, I had given up on the traffic and my desired arrival time to 'there'. I listened to what my little boy was asking me. I came up with an answer I thought I and he could both live with.
“Heaven is wherever you want it to be, Son.”
My son nodded, still pensive. he got it.
At that moment, Heaven, for me, was being in that car with my son, stuck on a two-lane road. That red Honda that I was silently cursing had provided me with a great Daddy moment.
We never know what kinds of questions monopolize our children’s minds. As they grow older, beyond the elementary school years, their thoughts and curiosities don’t diminish. They change, for sure, But, they do not weaken in scope or depth. We must be ready to have those Daddy (or Mommy) Moments no matter how old or young they are.
To do that we must be present, and have our minds and hearts open.
Patty V. Reilly has helped me grow immeasurably as a teacher. In my mind, and with over 15 years of experience with consultants, Patty is one of the best, hands down.
Supporting Struggling Learners is her second book with Heinemann. And I am sure there will be many more as Patty is a constant learner and researcher herself, always working to perfect her craft and help others. Driven by her own passion, she brings heart and a tireless enthusiasm to the art of teaching. Below is a description of her book and the tools you can gain from it:
As teachers, how do you meet the needs of all your students while also meeting the demands of the curriculum? With over two decades of experience in the classroom as a teacher, staff developer, and national consultant, Patty Vitale-Reilly has been there. And with Supporting Struggling Learners, she shares 50 of her tried and true solutions that make learning accessible for all students.
With these 50 instructional moves that can be applied across subjects and grades, Patty shows you how to make a positive impact on student thinking and learning. Loaded with practical tools and templates, including forms, checklists, questionnaires, and more, Supporting Struggling Learners provides strategies and structures to help you:
Jennifer Cronk is an educational speaker, staff developer, teacher, parent and a learning disabled student-turned hard-core advocate for learning disabled and special education students across the country. She is the host of the blog transparently teaching and the podcast #assist learning.
Her podcast investigates how we can teach all varieties of kids better and I was honored to be one of her guests. In this episode, Jenn and I discuss the paradox of being teachers and parents, and how the intersection of those expectations and mindsets can both be a blessing and a curse.
An old friend’s father recently passed away. The old friend, I’ll call him Richard, and I, we don’t speak often; in fact we haven’t spoken or seen each other in a few years, at least. Then, I was told that his father passed and left a message to which he quickly replied and we spoke on the phone.
It’s amazing how many memories can come rushing back when you reconnect with someone after years of distance. In an instant, I recalled playing long chess games with Richard. We would set up a game and let it sit until we were done. A day could pass, days even.
What’s more, when I recall Richard’s father, all I see is a smiling, grey haired, blue-eyed man. His smile was soft, and inviting. He was truly someone you could describe as ‘warm’ and be perfectly accurate. And complete. Richard’s father, who I will refer to as Marvin, was a class act. He exuded confidence and joy. He was a man content with his life: his four diverse and equally talented children, all of found success. Richard has achieved enormous respect in the legal community, and his oldest sister is a known name in the film industry.
What's more, Marvin enjoyed a decades-long marriage to his wife, Richard's mother. their marriage outlasted many others of their peers, including my own parents' 18-year run. Yes, Marvin had a lot to feel good about.
And then illness comes.
And there's nothing you can do about it except treat, be present and loving. As Marvin would have for anyone.
Richard mentioned that the shiva was a nice distraction. In the Jewish culture, the mourning family sits shiva, they remain home for seven days (shiva relates to the number 7) while friends and family bring meals, they bring prayer and mourning services, and they bring themselves. So while it’s a nice distraction, it’s also a burden, having to be social when you just want to be alone.
And then, they leave. And you are alone.
And there's nothing left to do but be aware of the fact that someone you loved dearly for your entire life is gone.
Did you know that 'gone' has a sound? And a weight?
How heavy absence can be.
A barbell weight at the end of a necklace, pulling you down when you're just trying to walk on your own again.
Richard and I spoke about that impending quiet. Eventually, the mourners and visitors go away. The shiva ends. And the family – Marvin’s family, Marvin’s wife, Richard’s Mom – will be alone. There will be audible silence. There will be a gaping absence.
And as a child, I remember: playing with Richard and his family, while his father, Marvin, smiled in the background. A consummate support, steady and there.
Marvin, your love is still present. The love you gave to others is carried in their hearts, passed on to those they love; and it will be passed on again to future hearts, and on and on.
A piece of you, Marvin, will continue to love many more than you could in your lifetime.
Reconnecting with Richard, I missed Marvin through the phone.
My 5th grade son has ADHD. He struggles to sustain attention and focus on longer tasks, or any task that he not fascinated by, which is 99% of them unless they include Lego or Minecraft. Homework is a chore. Long assignments like essays and writing projects where he has a month to do them are put off and ignored until a frantic last-minute push. His mother and I get frustrated by his short-term focus and his avoidance. After all, in my classroom, my students are expected to take their learning seriously.
I am a teacher. I teach English and English Language Arts to a wide variety of learners. I am good at what I do.
My school district asked me to build a learner active, technology infused (LATI) classroom – that’s a classroom that uses a multitude of resources so that students of varying learning styles could access and consume content they needed to think through solving open-ended problems. I was good at that. I was so good it that my district asked me to be a Teacher Leader, and help other teachers in the district.
The LATI Classroom, a term coined by Dr. Nancy Sula, creator of Innovative Designs for Education (IDE Corporation), serves to allow all students and all learners find their means of understanding content and expressing their thinking. Like I said, I was good at that.
Kids had use of many Google apps and tools, like Google Classroom, and the Google tools suite. I used Screencastify to let students hear my voice in a video recording as I guided them through necessary concepts and made it available over and over again. The IDE term for this is to clone yourself. I cloned myself. Over and over.
Students in my classroom had access to tons of websites, links, and other tech-based or web-based tools to assist them in their pursuit of deeper thinking.
At home, my son had me and his mother. His mother is an old-school, write with good penmanship, proper spelling and punctuation; hand in neat work, nothing sloppy type. She would sit and drill him through his efforts. And she is good at that.
In my classroom, students were encouraged to use each other before they asked me for help. They were encouraged to view each other as experts in various parts of the learning process, each one a master in their own field, working together as a team. My classroom was a team.
At home, my son had me. Me and his Mom.
I was not able to see my son’s abilities due to the frustration of watching his obstacles take over. Alone, with only me to guide him, he would bounce from a bathroom break, to a water break, feeding the dog, asking off-topic questions – good questions, interesting questions – and insisting on pursuing those thoughts instead of returning to the task at hand.
Each time he swerved off-task, it was a labor for him to come back. The flow of the work pace would build and then die out. We’d build it again, and again, a distraction would kill it.
Do you know how exhausting it is to constantly be restarting something? It’s awful. It requires more mental effort to restart than to keep it running. Cars use more fuel when they start than if you left it running while parked.
My son never left himself running in park, with the heat on and the music playing. He’d turn it all off, start something else, then turn that off and restart the thing he did not want to do in the first place.
And yet, he wants to do well. He wants to be accomplished.
I shouted, I banged the table with my fists. He’d feel terrible and beaten down. By the end of what seemed like forever, we were both frustrated and tired. I went to bed questioning my abilities as a teacher. What’s worse, he, I’m certain, was in his bed questioning his ability to learn. A ten year old boy experiencing self-esteem bruises. It was awful.
Then I started working with Jenn Cronk on a book about Universal design for Learning (UDL). UDL is one of the cornerstone concepts behind Dr. Nancy Sulla’s LATI Classroom. In a universal design for learning, multiple means of representation of content is provided for students. Just like in my classroom, a kid should be able to access knowledge in a way that made sense and was easily absorbed by them. They had multiple ways available to them.
Jenn Cronk worked in my son’s 4th grade classroom as a tech consultant. She introduced him to voice recognition add-ons in Google Docs. Suddenly, the kid who didn’t like to write found an easier way to express his thinking. He only had to speak clearly into the microphone of a chrome book.
Why didn’t I think of that?
Voice recognition tools are an option in my classroom but I wasn’t fond of it. I wanted my students to be able to physically write. In my view, they weren’t going to get the opportunity in the workforce or college to speak their ideas into text when they needed to deliver their thinking to a colleague, professor or boss.
And if I wasn’t fond of it for my students, I certainly wasn’t a fan of my son using it. Until I discovered that it worked for him. However, the longer the writing assignment, the longer he had to work at it, the more likely he was to bail on it. Still, using voice recognition software made the act of ‘writing’ more engaging.
Fast forward about a year. Jenn Cronk invites me to co-author a book on - guess what? – UDL! So, while I had created the LATI classroom beautifully in my classroom, for my job, I did not understand the basic concepts, as written and expressed in words, of the UDL process. I read and I read and I read. And Jenn taught me plenty more about it.
The basic idea behind the need for UDL is that every kid is bright and capable in their own way; not every child learns the same way. We must allow them the opportunity to access knowledge and express their thinking their way.
Shortly after embarking on the book, I was again sitting with my son, helping him write an essay. While he worked, I began to see him as the unique learner that he is. And I began to see his abilities and his needs. I considered how I could help him find alternative means of expressing his thinking.
He didn’t want to rewrite the essay he had done. Most kids, especially those with disabilities, dislike having to redo anything. It’s a lot of work to complete the first draft, can’t that be enough?
After I acknowledged that most of what he had done was good he was willing to dig in and rewrite. He felt confident and engaged. His face was the picture of determination as he busily scrawled words onto the page. We discussed possible alternative words, synonyms for the appropriate 5th grade syntax he had chosen. His suggestions blew my mind. His vocabulary was far richer than his writing conveyed.
I had a sudden realization: My son is incredibly smart. When I stopped looking at him as my son, and as a unique student who learns differently, I saw the whole of his intelligence, not just what he was able to show. What a wake-up call as a parent.
My son’s disability – his distractibility and his ADHD – get in his own way. He and I talk candidly regarding how his brain works. We talk about how he thinks. We discuss means of helping him express his thinking. He has great ideas. He is beginning to know himself; he is beginning to become metacognitive. Being metacognitive is the ultimate goal of the UDL process. Teachers want kids to recognize what they need to learn and express their thinking best and to advocate for those needs. What parent wouldn’t want that for their own child?
It is no coincidence that Jenn Cronk of #transparently teaching asked me to join her in writing a book that she had been asked to scribe. Learning and writing about the universal design for learning for all students has opened my eyes; I am a classroom teacher and I am a father. I have the glorious obligation to be a great teacher to my son. A great teacher spends the school year helping students find their own voice and grow as learners.
A great parent does the same, but for a lifetime.
Now that my oldest son is getting a little, well, older, I enjoy talking to him more. He was never very good at articulating his thoughts. He’s more a man of action. Man… he’s 10. Still. He has preferred to express himself physically, through actions rather than through words.
This is not in itself a negative thing. Every child is different, no matter what age. The compounding issue is that he’s always been one of the biggest and usually the strongest boy in his grade. So, when he acts out physically, moving his arms and legs, making sudden impulsive movements, other things near him tend to fly – pencils, chairs, other children.
That’s a problem.
Once in pre-school he picked up a stone. A girl was looking at him. Maybe she was watching him, maybe she was curious or perhaps she wasn’t looking at him at all, just in his direction. The reports from witnesses all stated that the girl was a good distance from my son.
Nonetheless, he didn’t like what he saw and his body went into action: he threw the stone at the girl. The stone hit her in the mouth, chipping a tooth. The girl's parents were not happy with my son or with us. We were lucky they didn't sue. I think her Dad was a dentist, actually.
We come to our children’s defense. Sometimes they make it very, very hard for us to help, like when they throw a rock at a girl’s face without cause. Like I said, if the parents had decided to sue for dental expenses or whatever, they would have been within their rights. And I would have been in dire straits.
But what if we had come to his defense, and faced a lawsuit, and worked it out with lawyers and paid the fine or damages. What lesson would my son have learned? If we made him pay for the damages with what money he had accrued at the ripe old age of 6, then maybe he would have learned a lesson. I know I did. I learned that my son should not throw stones at anyone because it could hurt them. That’s what I learned. There’s only one problem with that lesson:
I ALREADY KNOW THIS LESSON!!
I NEED MY SON TO LEARN THIS LESSON!
We have to get out of our kid’s way. We have to make them face the consequences of their actions. If not, no lesson is learned and the behavior is likely to repeat itself.
Of course, none of this is news. Then why is it still news? Why do we need to repeat and remind ourselves of its importance? We’re intelligent, thoughtful parents. We know the rules. We try to enforce the rules so that they sink in.
Is this some kind of cosmic joke? Is it our destiny to teach, observe, reteach and repeat? Ad infinitum? When does the baton of responsibility get passed on?
Now I am certain that some of you reading this far in this post might be shaking their heads while thinking, we teach our kids these lessons. My children are responsible.
Is it because you enforced great life lessons as they were growing up? Or is it because your child was more naturally conscientious and mindful, unlike my child who is emotional, impulsive and reactive?
Each situation is different. Every child is different. And each child must be approached as unique and independent of any other. We cannot, as parents or teachers or caregivers or coaches, approach a one size fits all mentality and assume that every child will get it at the same rate. Of course not. That’s why there are those that shine in various areas and those that get by. And that’s fine.
No matter what our kids take on, at some point frustration will take hold. This can be especially true of the brightest and most gifted kids for whom everything comes easily. They might excel in school and sports but at some point they will meet their match. And that kid, the one who is not used to working hard, usually meets difficulty with fewer tools for coping.
That kid will need your help to get through. At the same time, you can’t do it for them. You can’t pay the fine, take the test, or do the time for them. They must put in the effort.
All our kids will need help learning tough lessons at some point. And we need to be there to guide them through. My point is this: as caregivers, coaches, mentors and teachers, we can never do it for them. We can model the process, we can show them how, but we cannot complete the task for them.
That part they have to do alone.
Final take away: No matter who you are, it’s never a good idea to throw stones at people. Someone will get hurt.
Hi. My name is Stephen Tesher. I am a writer and an educator. Most importantly, I am a father. I've authored three books, staged numerous plays and written screenplays, articles, and this blog. I write about kids in crisis. I write about parents trying to figure it all out. I write about learning from failure and the resulting successes.