Years ago I taught at a preschool. Every year there were “those kids”–you know, the ones who did not understand the concept of sharing, the ones who were incredibly impulsive , the ones who took out their frustration by hitting or screaming at the other kids and me, the ones who were unable to sit still…In short, these were the ones who drove me and every other teacher crazy. The director of the school maintained that the best way to deal with these kinds of children was to “catch them while they were good”. So for every correction I made, or disciplinary measure I had to inflict, I tried to balance it with two positive ones.
In addition to that approach, I came up with another one–but this one wasn’t for them, it was for me, and it was so I could regroup and reassess my feelings and my actions when I dealt with them. Whenever one of those kids was having a particularly difficult day, I made sure that I took a moment to look in on them during nap time. (Because the kids who tended to be the most trouble were the ones who stayed for extended care.) I don’t know about you, but I don’t think there is anything more precious than a sleeping child. I would look at “those kids” while they slept, all peaceful … and quiet, innocent … and quiet, vulnerable, and … oh yeah…quiet, and tell myself things about how difficult it was to be three years old and to spend so many hours a week away from home. I had to remind myself that these kids were going to grow up, and most likely they were not going to resort to hitting their coworkers when they were frustrated, nor were going to run in the hallways. Eventually they would develop the self control necessary for living a productive life.
I still use that strategy with my own kids today. Whenever I am having a particularly difficult day I make it a priority to check in on them while they are asleep to remind myself of how vulnerable, innocent, and sweet they are and can be. It helps me to stop, reflect, regroup, and step out of myself and my frustration and look at their lives maybe from another perspective.
My older daughter, now seventeen, often sleeps with one of her arms outstretched and her fingers clenched in a fist. I see that fist of hers as an apt metaphor for her approach to life during these teen years. She spent so many of her early teenage years kicking and fighting me and everyone around her, proving that she was in charge and in control, and she was such an adept fighter that she kept that fist even while she slept. So, many nights as I stand at the bedroom door, I think about her and other children who come into our homes after spending their formative years in other places and in other countries, and I think about their instinct to fight, how little control they have had over their lives up to this point, and yet how much control they want of their lives. Watching my children sleep helps me to see that they are still young and still vulnerable, and still in need of a caring adult even though they try to push me away.
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