Godan had been explaining to me how if someone bullied him he could ignore it if he'd had a good day, if it was just one thing, but if it had been going on all day he couldn't not lose his temper.
So I said that sounded perfectly normal; that he sounded perfectly normal.
He looked doubtful about that - in fact his eyebrows really went up a long way. Like I'd said he was really an alien or something.
"Ok," I said, "have you ever seen a teacher really lose their temper? Like really lose it?!"
He confirmed he'd seen such a thing.
"And what happened before? How did it get to that point?"
He explained that it happened when everyone kept on talking, or being noisy or whatever for a long time and it built up.
"There you go," I said. "That's what you just said. That's what happens to all of us. We get worn down by stuff and then we're not so able to cope."
He thought about it and then said,
"My temper used to be much worse, it was like really short. When I was younger, my cousin used to only have to say one thing and I'd snap. They thought I had ADHD and took me to see a doctor. But I didn't have ADHD." He paused, then added, "It turned out that it was my cousin who had it."
He didn't really understand why his words made me laugh so much, but he seemed to enjoy it.
7/20/2010
7/11/2010
(Mary - 10)
Mostly we would talk about her mum: the mum who didn't love her. The mum who never hugged her, or kissed her, or said nice stuff. Or treated her the same as her sister.
But today was different. Today she started by saying things between them had been better.
"I've been trying that thing you said, about not picking up the jumper." (I'd showed her a month or so before how you couldn't have a tug-of-war - i.e. an arguement - if only one person picked up the rope - we used her school jumper. I could still remember her hurt face as I said all I could think off to test her; to see if she'd stay strong and not to pick up the sleeve and pull. She'd stuck it out, she'd been brilliant - and I'd made sure she knew it too!)
"Yeah," she went on. "I just walk away when she starts, and then come back a bit later and ask if she's ok."
(I'm pretty sure I didn't suggest that bit!)
"So it's helping then?"
"Yeah."
"Good."
"Anyway, so I had my tests and..."
"Tests?"
"Yes, they were for.." (medical thing) "...and they were all ok. Nothing was wrong."
"Oh, ok, good."
"And my mum cried."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. And she said it was like my aunt - I'm not being funny but she's like really big - and my mum said it was like my aunt was on her head and someone had taken her off."
"Your mum said that when all your tests said you were ok it was like someone had taken someone really heavy off her head? Wow, so that sounds like she does love you. It sounds like she loves you a lot."
"Yeah. We were walking the other day and she said that her being cross and angry and stuff had nothing to do with her not loving me."
"Wow," I said.
"Yeah," she said.
A FEW WEEKS LATER...
"So how's things?"
Mary wrote in my pad. She likes to do that sometimes - answer in writing. She's not shy, or ever reluctant to talk - and getting her to go back to class can be a struggle. She just likes making a kind of story in single words on paper. I think it helps her 'see it' somehow.
She wrote: 'Better'.
"Ok, good. How have you done that? How have you made it better?"
She wrote again: 'Less arguments'. But then she looked up and said brightly, "There's been hugs and kisses too!"
"Oh, that's new, Great."
"Yeah," she said matter of factly, "I cry every time."
7/06/2010
(Why the pink elephant)
I tend to say the Pink Elephant thing when talking to kids about being careful what thoughts and ideas they take for granted and make true but I don't actually keep saying it on purpose and didn’t notice I was doing it until I read what I’d written. But it does tend to pop into my head as a good example of what no one would actually believe in so I guess that's why.
As to where is came from:-
Many years ago I had a friend who, like many of my friends then as now, suffered to the point of despair from my somewhat childish sense of humour. One day, when out in her car, I’d asked her if she'd seen the life size pink elephant we'd just passed in the garden back around the last bend. She must have had enough at this point and decided to teach me a lesson and actually turn the car around and face me with my lie.
I guess it must have been something to do with a village fete (or her fate perhaps - Ha-ha), but I really had seen one: a life size pink elephant in the garden of the village post office. It just that it had been such a shock that by the time I said what was there, we'd rounded the corner. So as I’m sure you can imagine, she was not pleased to be wrong. The language when she realised that what she felt sure was a definite wind up, what could in no way be true, was there in front of her, very much as large as life. Staring at her like a great teacher from the world of the native american coyote joker, or court jester, was a huge pink elephant. You could almost feel it grinning.
And so started a tradition. I’d tell this story to people as a matter of course and when, sooner or later, she’d be introduced to them, they nearly always said, “Oh yeah, the pink elephant!”
It drove her crazy, but turned out to be pretty useful.
As to where is came from:-
Many years ago I had a friend who, like many of my friends then as now, suffered to the point of despair from my somewhat childish sense of humour. One day, when out in her car, I’d asked her if she'd seen the life size pink elephant we'd just passed in the garden back around the last bend. She must have had enough at this point and decided to teach me a lesson and actually turn the car around and face me with my lie.
I guess it must have been something to do with a village fete (or her fate perhaps - Ha-ha), but I really had seen one: a life size pink elephant in the garden of the village post office. It just that it had been such a shock that by the time I said what was there, we'd rounded the corner. So as I’m sure you can imagine, she was not pleased to be wrong. The language when she realised that what she felt sure was a definite wind up, what could in no way be true, was there in front of her, very much as large as life. Staring at her like a great teacher from the world of the native american coyote joker, or court jester, was a huge pink elephant. You could almost feel it grinning.
And so started a tradition. I’d tell this story to people as a matter of course and when, sooner or later, she’d be introduced to them, they nearly always said, “Oh yeah, the pink elephant!”
It drove her crazy, but turned out to be pretty useful.
7/05/2010
(Toby - 11) Pink Elephants
"...so if I told you there was a pink elephant walking across the grass behind you, would you believe me?"
He laughed, "No way!"
"Okay, so if I said you were the most stupidest kid I'd ever talked to, would you believe that?"
His face fell a bit, and he looked doubtful about saying 'no'.
"You see, it's really hard isn't it?"
"Yeah."
"So I'm going to say some stuff now and I want you to 'pink elephant' everything I say to you now, okay?"
"OK."
"Right, so.. you're the most stupid person I ever spoke to..." He faltered a bit so I nudged him with a whispered 'pink elephant'.
"Good. And none of your friends really like you."
A muttered pink elephant came back.
"And you're never gonna have any friends."
"Pink elephant." Slight smile.
"And you're not ever going to have a friends at secondary school."
"Pink elephant."
"And eventually you're gonna end up a lonely old git in a council flat surrounded by empty beer cans."
He laughed. "Pink elephant!" he said loudly.
I laughed too. "Very cool," I said, and held out my fist for him to pop with his.
He did and grinned.
He laughed, "No way!"
"Okay, so if I said you were the most stupidest kid I'd ever talked to, would you believe that?"
His face fell a bit, and he looked doubtful about saying 'no'.
"You see, it's really hard isn't it?"
"Yeah."
"So I'm going to say some stuff now and I want you to 'pink elephant' everything I say to you now, okay?"
"OK."
"Right, so.. you're the most stupid person I ever spoke to..." He faltered a bit so I nudged him with a whispered 'pink elephant'.
"Good. And none of your friends really like you."
A muttered pink elephant came back.
"And you're never gonna have any friends."
"Pink elephant." Slight smile.
"And you're not ever going to have a friends at secondary school."
"Pink elephant."
"And eventually you're gonna end up a lonely old git in a council flat surrounded by empty beer cans."
He laughed. "Pink elephant!" he said loudly.
I laughed too. "Very cool," I said, and held out my fist for him to pop with his.
He did and grinned.
6/25/2010
(David - 10) The Wrong David
It was my first time talking to David and part of that is doing a little 'get to know you' questionnaire; it's 20 questions for the child to answer.
The first one is:
"I _________ like myself."
Like all the questions, the blank is for them to fill in with one of six choices: always, mostly, usually, sometimes, rarely, or never.
David chose 'never' - 'I never like myself.'
"Okay, that's interesting," I said casually, "What makes you choose 'never'?"
David explained that about a year before, in Grade(Year) 5, another boy in his class, who had been a friend, had been killed in a traffic accident. His name had been David too. The next day another boy in their class had said to him, 'The wrong David died - you should have died.'
I decided that before going on we could make time for a chat about the kind of things people say when they are upset and the ways they can sometimes show their grief. But most of all we would have a chat about the difference between hearing what someone says and believing what someone says; the difference between leaving it as their thinking and making it ours.
"Anyway," I said after a while. "We ought to get back to these questions. But before we do, are you happy with the first one, or do you want to have another go at it?"
He said he did. He changed his answer to 'mostly'.
The first one is:
"I _________ like myself."
Like all the questions, the blank is for them to fill in with one of six choices: always, mostly, usually, sometimes, rarely, or never.
David chose 'never' - 'I never like myself.'
"Okay, that's interesting," I said casually, "What makes you choose 'never'?"
David explained that about a year before, in Grade(Year) 5, another boy in his class, who had been a friend, had been killed in a traffic accident. His name had been David too. The next day another boy in their class had said to him, 'The wrong David died - you should have died.'
I decided that before going on we could make time for a chat about the kind of things people say when they are upset and the ways they can sometimes show their grief. But most of all we would have a chat about the difference between hearing what someone says and believing what someone says; the difference between leaving it as their thinking and making it ours.
"Anyway," I said after a while. "We ought to get back to these questions. But before we do, are you happy with the first one, or do you want to have another go at it?"
He said he did. He changed his answer to 'mostly'.
(Jay - 12) A little doubt
We’d been talking for a while but Jay had been struggling with the intensity of his headache, which had been going on since he’d woke up that morning. From time to time he would groan and rub the back of his head. As we talked we walked around the school, and finally we’d tracked down a First Aider and got through the procedures of getting him some pain killers. Now we could settle.
After a while, listening, I slouched down on my arm on the table. It’s odd, I often seem to end up in that position when listening to kids. After a minute, Jay slid into the same position.
“I do see how it seems to be the same thing,” I said, “how your mum taking you to live with your dad and then letting her boyfriend come back seems to be the same. But I’m not sure it’s the same thing. It could be two...”
“It is the same thing,” he said.
“...and maybe you’re right, I honestly don’t know. Maybe she was getting you out of the way and I can see how painful that is and how angry it can make you. But to me it could be that what she did was to get you away so you’d be safe. Maybe she did that for you. And then the taking the boyfriend back was what she did for her. It could be that they are the same, but thinking that is just a thought.”
Jay looked at me blankly, but did not sit up or move.
“Like,” I went on, “you know how we can ‘think’ we are leaning on this table. That’s just a thought.”
“But we are.”
“Which we know because we can back it up with evidence. We can see it, and touch it. And agree it’s there. But for our brains the thought that we are leaning on a table is just the same as the thought that this hall is full of dancing pink elephants...”
He smiled and I guessed from his expression he thought that was a crazy think to say.
“... but because there’s no evidence to back up the dancing elephants, we know it is not a true. So whereas I can see why you ‘think’ your mum got you out of the way so she could get her boyfriend back, where’s your evidence to back it up? You may be right, but what’s the evidence that makes it definitely true?”
“Because...” he stopped. His face clearly showing he could not think of any proof. “I just... know,” he said instead, but with little power or certainty.
“Like I said,” I went on. “Maybe you’re right. But I wanted to throw some doubt on it. Because you might also be wrong. You might just be making yourself suffer all this pain and anger and hurt, and you might be wrong about her. She might have got you away to make sure you were safe. Because... well, that’s a mum’s first job.”
Jay didn’t answer, but his face softened. I think he liked the doubt.
After a while, listening, I slouched down on my arm on the table. It’s odd, I often seem to end up in that position when listening to kids. After a minute, Jay slid into the same position.
“I do see how it seems to be the same thing,” I said, “how your mum taking you to live with your dad and then letting her boyfriend come back seems to be the same. But I’m not sure it’s the same thing. It could be two...”
“It is the same thing,” he said.
“...and maybe you’re right, I honestly don’t know. Maybe she was getting you out of the way and I can see how painful that is and how angry it can make you. But to me it could be that what she did was to get you away so you’d be safe. Maybe she did that for you. And then the taking the boyfriend back was what she did for her. It could be that they are the same, but thinking that is just a thought.”
Jay looked at me blankly, but did not sit up or move.
“Like,” I went on, “you know how we can ‘think’ we are leaning on this table. That’s just a thought.”
“But we are.”
“Which we know because we can back it up with evidence. We can see it, and touch it. And agree it’s there. But for our brains the thought that we are leaning on a table is just the same as the thought that this hall is full of dancing pink elephants...”
He smiled and I guessed from his expression he thought that was a crazy think to say.
“... but because there’s no evidence to back up the dancing elephants, we know it is not a true. So whereas I can see why you ‘think’ your mum got you out of the way so she could get her boyfriend back, where’s your evidence to back it up? You may be right, but what’s the evidence that makes it definitely true?”
“Because...” he stopped. His face clearly showing he could not think of any proof. “I just... know,” he said instead, but with little power or certainty.
“Like I said,” I went on. “Maybe you’re right. But I wanted to throw some doubt on it. Because you might also be wrong. You might just be making yourself suffer all this pain and anger and hurt, and you might be wrong about her. She might have got you away to make sure you were safe. Because... well, that’s a mum’s first job.”
Jay didn’t answer, but his face softened. I think he liked the doubt.
6/24/2010
Listening
This blog is retellings of conversations I had when I worked in schools as children's advocate - with children from the age of 9 upwards. (Any details that may identify them have been changed). My work was to try to support children and young people to either get heard by other adults and/or deal with the numerous problems they face in their lives. My experience was that they deal routinely with problems most adults would be unable to face and still function.
Oddly, I was not so much outraged by this regime as surprised by it. Like most kids I thought adults knew what was true and good. I don't mean I expected this of all adults, not the ones we warn kids about staying away from, but I did expect it from the adults who did the warning - the ones who were supposed to be trustable. In the end I saw that they were just kids themselves, struggling.
And so, that day, I also saw that no none could advise me of what was right or wrong, or even what was truth. I had to become my own authority, my own ethical advisor, my own perceiver of reality - my own master. I stopped believing a great deal of what was said to me (the so called meta-narratives of life) and what was claimed to be real and important. What mattered to the ‘system’ no longer mattered to me because that was just another person’s made up reality.
I was the first kid I listened to.
For me though, 'listening to [younger] kids' started when I was 15 or 16. I went to a mixed British boarding school when I was 11, and while there's a lot I could say about it, one thing that is very relevant to this blog is that by the time I had been at the school for about a year I came to a startling and terrifying realisation that none of the adults around me knew right from wrong. They were fallible, making mistakes, and often remaining unaware of it, and certainly in denial. There was no shortage of them thinking they knew right and wrong, but their actions showed they didn't. Around me was a tremendous amount of cruelty, non-listening, and bullying. Even the Housemaster, a man of fifty, acknowledged he used terror to control ten year old girls (girls who had to live under his care, miles from their homes - imagine that) and the school authority backed him up. That alone was proof enough for me.
Oddly, I was not so much outraged by this regime as surprised by it. Like most kids I thought adults knew what was true and good. I don't mean I expected this of all adults, not the ones we warn kids about staying away from, but I did expect it from the adults who did the warning - the ones who were supposed to be trustable. In the end I saw that they were just kids themselves, struggling.
And so, that day, I also saw that no none could advise me of what was right or wrong, or even what was truth. I had to become my own authority, my own ethical advisor, my own perceiver of reality - my own master. I stopped believing a great deal of what was said to me (the so called meta-narratives of life) and what was claimed to be real and important. What mattered to the ‘system’ no longer mattered to me because that was just another person’s made up reality.
I was the first kid I listened to.
WHY THIS BLOG
This blog is retellings of conversations I had when I worked in schools as children's advocate - with children from the age of 9 upwards. My work was to try to support children and young people to either get heard by other adults and/or deal with the numerous problems they face in their lives. My experience was that they deal routinely with problems most adults would be unable to face and still function.
(Any details of the stories that may identify them have been changed. All names are changed).
(Any details of the stories that may identify them have been changed. All names are changed).
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