How We Talk to Children Matters

I touched the 9-year-old, shaggy haired boy on his tense left shoulder after talking to him about his tendency to be disruptive at school.

“I talk to you like I talk to my own son,” I told him, smiling. “It’s kind of odd in a way, but I guess it’s the clearest way I know how to talk to kids.”

The boy shoved his hands deeper into his blue and black checkered shorts and gazed right past me, tears in his eyes.

“Well, you talk to your son kind of different,” he said, biting his trembling lip. “My mom doesn’t say stuff like this to me. She says things like, ‘You are a dumb ass. And a loser. And stupid.’ That’s the kind of stuff my mom says to me.”

He didn’t actually say thank you for our little talk, but I could hear the words, somehow, in his voice.

And our conversation reminded me that the words and the body language that we use when we talk to the children and youth in our lives matters. Cruel words do deep, cutting damage – damage that is difficult to repair.

The way that I talked to my young friend was not unusual, in my view. I just spoke to him with respect – reminded him that I cared about him, and that as part of that caring, I had to correct him when he was wrong. I reminded him of his good traits, including his sense of humor and his willingness to reach out to kids that were different from him. And then, we talked about areas where he needed to put in a bit of extra work.

The formula for talking to young people is not complex – but just because it’s simple doesn’t mean it’s not important.

Facing Our Fears: A Personal Reflection

“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you
did do. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails.
Explore. Dream. Discover.” - Mark Twain

I seem to be coming across a lot of articles and blog posts lately about fear and how it can be a powerful force holding us back from pursuing a passion, taking a risk, speaking out for what we belive in, or doing a host of other things that we relegate to far-fetched fantasies because we can't overcome the fear needed to venture out into the unknown. And it's made me think about my own professional journey and those times in which I have overcome my own fears and insecurities. And about how fear is often a matter of perspective.

As a young child, I spent a lot of time on a sailboat. Anyone who knows my family well, knows the stories of how I was jumping off the bow of our sailboat into the open sea not long after I learned how to walk. I feel at home in the water or on the water. And the ocean doesn't scare me. But I know people who are terrified of the ocean, who would never venture into the ocean surf or cast away dock lines to sail out to sea, or understand the decision of a teenager to attempt to sail around the world by herself. I can attempt to understand people's fears of the water, but it's hard for me to relate to a fear that I don't hold myself.

So, the ocean? Bring it on. Making my writing public? Professional fear number one. It's always been easy for me to say I'm a writer in casual conversation. It's also easy for me to teach writing and to edit other people's writing to make it more coherent. But to actually write something, publish it, and then believe that somebody, anybody, will want to read what I've written? This has been a MAJOR fear of mine that I work daily to overcome. I don't have the simple answer for how to do this, but I do know that every day I work at writing. And, on the best of days, I put that writing out there in the public sphere. And you know what? Once it's done, a lot of my fears about the process kind of just fall away.

Professional fear number two? Working for myself. Since the day I took my first education course in college, I knew that teaching was for me. And as I worked through my master's program, I became increasingly drawn to the teaching profession, in part because it just seemed so darn predictable and safe. (It feels funny writing this now, because as I quickly learned, the day-in and day-out life of a classroom teacher is anything but predictable. Furthermore, the current climate of the teaching profession is one that most within the profession would not describe as safe.) So I taught high school, until one day I woke up and realized that my life needed a change of direction. I still teach now, but most of my days are spent working for myself, chasing after dreams that are meaningful to me - in my own time and by my own measure. Are there days when I'm scared? Of course. But it's then that I remember that sometimes you have to face your fears if you want to live life on your own terms.

And as I continue to chart the course of my own life, I try to remember that if I was the child who - at two years old - could jump fearlessly off the bow of a sailboat and swim to shore, well then, I have a strength that has been with me always. Even during times when I'm most afraid.

"If communities come together to support their kids, anything is possible."

I was standing at the bus stop with a group of foster kids, when the conversation turned from who they were going to sit with at lunch to how upset they were that the school district they're now attending doesn't offer foreign language classes until high school.

It was an eighth grader in the group who quickly became the most vocal. "You see," she said. "I think we're giving too much credit to the school boards here. They don't really have ALL the power to make decisions. Because in my old school district? We had language classes in elementary school. And the reason we did is because the parents and community fought for them. When the classes were going to be cut, I remember the parents all marching down to the school board meetings."

Soon, she had the attention of the entire group.

"Our schools were good because the community cared so much about our education. If communities come together to support their kids, anything is possible."

The wisdom of an eighth-grade foster kid, with a family history that would bring you to tears, decked out in her new hot pink high-tops and zebra-print tshirt, spoken at the morning bus stop.

So at the most unlikely time, from a rather unlikely source, I was again reminded how important it is to listen to your young people. And value them. And come together as communities to support them. Always.