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'.
6/25/2010
(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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