I’d just finished taking attendance in my high school language arts class for pregnant teens with special needs.

Everyone was settled in their orange plastic seats, eyes front, and I was about to start our first activity when Tiffany walked in late with a pass.

I took it, silently, placed it on my desk, and continued my instruction to the class. That was Monday.

On Tuesday, Ramona was late. Unlike Tiffany the day before, she did not have a pass. Again, I was in the middle of instruction.

I acknowledged Ramona’s arrival, silently, by writing myself a quick line on a pad of blue sticky notes I always keep in my pocket, and she slipped quickly into her seat.

A few minutes later when the class was busy in small groups I spoke to Ramona.

Without engaging other students, or allowing them to engage me, I said, “Ramona, I noticed you were late today and missed some of the directions. Since this is your third time without a pass, I’m going to issue you a detention because that is our classroom policy. Please make sure you get all the directions from someone so you don’t miss the entire assignment. If you need extra help, we’ll talk about that after school when I see you.”

I said this in a calm voice.

I showed no aggravation.

Quite honestly, I didn’t feel any aggravation.

Why? Because I had not allowed Ramona’s lateness to distract me from my instruction.

Did I start out my teaching career this way—calm, in control, unruffled?

I did not.

I started out my teaching career feeling aggravated when a student was late. And I’d express my aggravation by asking a question.

“Why are you late?”

Logical, right? But wait a minute, what was I doing asking a question at all?

Wasn’t I taking my class’s hard-earned attention off of my own instruction?

Wasn’t I putting it smack on the one student who wasn’t in her seat ready to go? What was I doing? For some of my students a late-arriving classmate offered much more interest than my instruction, particularly if I staged a little showdown around the issue of their lateness. Most particularly if the student was one just waiting for center stage. Ever had one of those?

Like Bill, one of my students early in my career. He walked into my class, very late, on a sultry May afternoon, every student in the class struggling to attend on such a spring day.

“Bill, you’re late. Where have you been?”

“Out to lunch.”

Then, of course, Bill strutted to his seat, bowing to the enthusiastic applause of his buddies lined up in the seats along the back and blowing kisses to the giggling girls in front.

Who was in charge of my class now? We all knew it wasn’t me!

Or, here’s another treasured memory: upon asking another late student where he’d been, he said, I kid you not, “I’m a little backed up and took longer in the bathroom.”

Well, that was about as low as I was willing to let things go so I began to ask myself, did I really want to continue to explore, in front of a classroom, the universe of smarty-pants answers to everyday questions like:

“Don’t you know how to behave?”

“Do you talk like that at home?”

“How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Where’s your homework?”

“What would your Mother say if she heard you talking like that?”

Over time I began to realize that asking questions in behavior situations was a BIG MISTAKE.

So now I don’t.

And I don’t have to manage all the behavior problems my innocent questions once uncorked.

Take it from me, think twice before you ask questions and I think you’ll find some of those pesky everyday behavior problems will simply stop.

And if you want to share with me your favorite questions you wished you’d never asked, and the answers you wished you’d never heard, I’m compiling a list! You know where to find me: info@CristiaLesher.com

____________________

Come back next month on the 15th. I’ll have another story for you about my lifetime work as an educator and a behavior consultant.

What to read more articles by Polly Bath? Click here!

Polly Bath’s articles are about real people and real situations. Changes are made sufficient to protect everyone’s privacy. A veteran educator, she is a full-time behavior consultant, trainer, and keynote speaker in New England. Read more information on Polly Bath’s in-school workshops, consultations, summer institutes, and keynotes. And contact us to make arrangements for her to come to your school.

“Spirit Week” was in full swing at Sheldon High. Every year the student council organized a week of activities to promote school spirit, culminating in a football game against our rivals, the Derby Raiders. It was “School Colors Day” and the kids were in high gear. I enjoyed participating and encouraged my students to do the same, but I did it with caution. It’s funny, I know how much they enjoy these social activities, but I’m also keenly aware of the potential for problems when easily escalated, impulsive kids are put into exciting unstructured situations. I couldn’t prevent them from attending, but I could provide a refuge if tensions arose and coping skills were depleted. One student loved these events more than anyone—Luke.

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Last month I wrote about watching one of my colleagues, Miss Hardy, a marvelous teacher, make four mistakes in a row when managing the behavior of Sylvie, a difficult student if there ever was one.

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I watched a colleague make four mistakes in a row. It was a painful way to start a Monday.

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I was headed to my third period class when I saw him – a tall, white, 11th grader, with a shaved head and a fully-loaded attitude. He stood across the hall from my classroom door, leaning against the wall as though he owned that stretch of hallway.

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Sophomore Greg Gunnars walked into the high school foyer, hurrying out of the sleet and freezing rain. He let the door swing shut behind him, as he always did, and kept walking in his unlaced high top sneakers.

Blam, blam, blam! Mrs. McCabe’s textbooks crashed to the floor as the closing door caught her on the shoulder and she lost grip of her belongings. Car keys and tampons flew like airborne projectiles and landed across the foyer. Lipsticks, snug in their polished cylinders, rolled out of reach. Student papers fled the shelter of their file folders and scattered everywhere.

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Five-year-old Billy is easy to spot. He is large for his age; his shock of black hair is tousled and dark circles sit beneath his eyes. His little blue plaid shirt is half untucked, and his black sneakers are worn. A bit of breakfast is stuck to his cheek. Billy is seated apart from the other kindergartners, all of whom are scrubbed and shiny looking. The classroom is calm and quiet except for the scratching of yellow pencils on paper.

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I spent the weekend trying to resurrect an inviting classroom from a carnage of mismatched plastic furniture. Every chair and desk wore battle scars or patches of duct tape. The closet overflowed with garbage. I’d been hired just three days before school started so, with almost no preparation time, I was grateful I’d be teaching an old favorite for my first class, “Catcher in the Rye.” Officially my title was teacher of the Emotionally and Behaviorally Disturbed; unofficially, it was 9th grade English.

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Sixteen-year-old, blond, skinny, flirty, bombshell Dahlia was out of control. She was tardy, rude, skipped classes, swore at her teachers, and argued with every request.

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There I was, veteran teacher, well-traveled behavior consultant, and what did I do? I broke my own first rule of behavior management: Never Assume. As in: never assume students know what to do, or if they know, that they will do it!

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