conflict irresolution

How much can children solve their disagreements?

Eileen was a particularly emotional fourth grader. She was highly sensitive to perceived insults or to being left out of a game. She could swing from laughter to sobbing at the drop of a leaf, and she could draw other children into her emotions, sometimes causing a general uproar among the students in the school.

This school made a pronounced commitment to conflict resolution processes among children. By giving children the opportunity to speak for themselves and listen to each other, the teachers hoped to get children to recognize each other’s needs and respond in caring ways. The process basically consisted of each student having the chance to state her or his feelings about something that had occurred, and making agreements about what course of action to take.

For Eileen the process became an opportunity to give full expression to all her frustrations and disappointments. She regularly asked for meetings with other children, and even began conducting them on her own, without a teacher present. She had a hard time distinguishing between having another child listen to her respectfully and getting another child to do what she wanted. Rather than solving her conflicts, this process seemed to fan the flames of them and make them far more disturbing.

What I did initially in the face of all this was to stop having conflict meetings entirely for a while. I explained to the students that this wonderful tool was not simply a way to have more arguments or force other people to listen. I said that if a meeting was really necessary, a teacher would call for it. Later over the course of the year, I did initiate many talks between students, and I carefully guided them to keep either child from manipulating the situation.

I think poor Eileen really needed some clear, unemotional responses to her turbulent feelings. Putting her in control of a conflict resolution process only seemed to feed her weaknesses, not her strengths. I think people also sometimes mistake such a process as a way of giving children control and “allowing them to work it out.” Children, in my experience, do not have the cognitive tools or the emotional maturity to resolve conflict in a reasonable way. Left to themselves, they tend to create hierarchical power structures in favor of the biggest, strongest, or most ruthless. They desperately need the guidance and perspective of adults to bring out the qualities that will make them more harmonious and more caring.

When an adult is present to create a level playing field, conflict resolution can be a powerful learning experience for both the strong and the weak. By looking attentively at the human face before them, children discover that we all experience feelings of doubt, loss, and hurt. They can feel compassion, even for a moment. They can learn that even our enemies have some deep bond with us.

: : : Insist that children listen to each other, and see humanity there.

acceptance

Why do children become inflexible?

Ariel came to me deeply upset about Laurie. Between sobs, she told me how Laurie had said something mean to her and was not her friend anymore. Laurie, who was a year or two older and admittedly had a fairly caustic manner, apologized and said she didn’t mean it. But that wasn’t really enough for Ariel.

The children were leaving for the day, and I stayed with Ariel to help her put these feelings into perspective. “How can she be my friend if she says mean things?” she whimpered. I explained to her that people sometimes make mistakes, that perhaps Ariel could even remember making mistakes herself. It doesn’t mean that person can’t be a friend anymore.

“I’ll never be her friend,” she answered vehemently.

I responded carefully, “Ariel, I know you feel that way right now. But how can you be someone’s friend if you don’t forgive?” She didn’t answer, and was obviously troubled by the question.

Part of growing up (if not most of growing up) is becoming more aware. As our minds mature in childhood, we begin to notice conflicting desires, especially with regard to people. One of the great challenges of life is to accept paradox and inconsistency, without allowing them to rule our choices. The young child does not even notice anything wrong. The older child begins to notice and becomes horrified. How can it be possible to say something you don’t mean? How can a person act one way with me and another way with someone else? The danger in these questions is that they push us to become intolerant and less aware despite our growing awareness. It is a painful process.

The question that I asked Ariel was intended to keep that process moving. The idea of forgiveness (or of gratitude or generosity) is one that refuses us the chance to become small and narrow. If we abandon a friend, then we are also abandoning our capacity for friendship. What an awful choice! It compels us to see ourselves clearly, to know that the way we treat people has significance much more for ourselves than for them.

: : : Reflect with children on what they wish to become.

negative responses

Why do children resist new things?

Sometimes when I introduce a new idea, my class erupts in a chorus of “No!” Of course I always stop them. “Every experience is a chance for you to learn and enjoy yourself,” I say. They are cooperative and willing to try many things. What I don’t do is change my mind to suit their momentary preference.

What often surprises me is that their reaction turns very quickly from a vocal negative one to a vocal positive one. I have learned over time that their first response is usually an imaginary one. They protest the unknown. They resist making new efforts. Once the unknown becomes known, and once the effort is made, they begin to appreciate what is happening.

I have another sense about these negative responses. Children constantly play with their power to change things, and sometimes that power is far more interesting to them than any plan or lesson I might have. For nine and ten year olds, the relationship with a teacher becomes a bit of a game. “Suppose I contradict you, what will happen then?” they seem to ask. Their identity is not yet wrapped up in becoming an individual, in the manner of adolescents, but they begin to question whether the adult is really in charge.

These plays for power are very important for growth, I think. I remember a passage in Laurens Van der Post’s A Story Like the Wind, where a man asks a boy to shoot a dangerous and enraged elephant. The man stands ready at a moment’s notice to take charge, but he is careful not to betray any anxiety to the boy. He allows the boy to experience the feeling of total responsibility.

: : : Respond to children’s motives, not their words.

getting out of control

Why do children persist when we want them to stop?

When I was still a fairly new teacher, I was sharing a first/second grade class with a colleague. Each morning we had a “circle time” with children, singing songs and getting ourselves ready for what the day would hold. It takes a certain skill to talk to a group of children that age and hold their attention.

On that day this group of children’s attention was particularly hard to hold. Many of them started rolling with each other on the floor and just generally acting silly. My response was to tell them we were going to walk back out of the room and try entering again in the right way. We did that twice, but the misbehavior just became worse. We left the room a third time, and then my colleague arrived.

I was curious to see what would happen now with this much more experienced teacher. In fact, they did exactly the same thing. She was astonished, because they had never acted that way with her before. She solved the situation by simply taking them on a walk and then beginning to read them a story. In the middle of the story, she put the book down and reflected with them on how unkind and out of control that behavior was. Now that they were listening, they got the message.

If I had known what I now know, I would have explained the whole situation to my colleague to prepare her. I realized that it made no difference who was there; the children had quickly formed a habit of walking in and then rolling on the floor. Children do this all the time, inventing routines and then repeating them many times. I think it is a way of experiencing memory and time. They repeat actions to keep the actions present to their minds.

My strategy of repeating our entry, therefore, because it was only mechanical, was only reinforcing their behavior, not stopping it. To change a child’s pattern requires energy, creativity, timing, and an awareness of what really engages the child’s attention.

: : : Change the routine to change the behavior.

erasing the work

How does a child feel about being corrected?

Nathaniel was a second-grader in my class, and the year had recently just begun. We were working on an arithmetic question on the board. He seemed proud that he could give an answer to the question. He worked it out on the board and came back to his seat. The answer was not correct.

After some discussion with the students, I indicated that his answer could not be right, and I erased it. Nathaniel stared hard at the board for a few moments and then could not hold back his feelings. He hunched over and started crying. I felt terrible! I tried to comfort him, rubbed his back, reassured him that he had done a good job. Later I mentioned the incident to his mother, wondering if he had gone home upset. She looked blank, and said he never brought it up.

My approach to teaching math has evolved since that time, and I now use class discussion to allow children to correct themselves. I tell them to say “I disagree” instead of “that’s wrong.”

I think I learned two important things from that experience with Nathaniel. The first is that young children attach great importance to the physical results of their work. In a way, the work and the physical component are identical, as if by writing a love letter, I were actually embodying my love in the letter. The second is somewhat deeper: Children have very private lives, in which their struggles may go quite unnoticed by people close to them. Who can say what passions and inspirations are passing silently through their hearts? It takes a perceptive mind to penetrate the mystery of a child’s thoughts.

: : : Children feel attached to what they create. They can be very sensitive to the judgments of others.

teaching letters during a tantrum

Aimée is a calm, independent, resourceful four-year-old child. She also throws tantrums periodically. We do not let her cry for long periods at the dinner table. If she does not make an effort to control her voice, we bring her up to her room until she can be quieter. This response, of course, often escalates the crying to screaming (but if we become afraid of making a child scream, the screaming child becomes the emporer).

One day I had her in the bedroom, physically barring her way out, and holding her feet if she tried to kick me (something she knows I will do). I do not get angry at her when this happens, but I admit to feeling numb and irritable. After a few minutes, I started picking up some nearby letter blocks, saying the sounds of them, and making words. I left pauses for her to repeat what I said, but went on if she didn’t. A few minutes later she was repeating everything and trying to make some of her own words. Then we went downstairs and continued dinner.

A child often has insurmountable feelings. She literally can’t stop them, nor wait for them to subside. Trying to control her feelings is like trying to pick up water with her hands. When Aimée has the thought of frustration and refusal in her mind, that is all she has in her mind. It takes experience, brain development, and practice to change one’s state of mind. By using the letter blocks, I was simply giving her mind something else to focus on. The activity was unexpected enough, unusual enough, and interesting enough to make her forget the anger and weaken its hold. We didn’t solve any “problem” or make any “agreement,” because those are analytical, adult processes. Once the feeling is gone in a child, it is really gone.

crossing the bridge

I was walking with some children and their parents down a woods trail that crossed a stream in several places. The bridges were fairly narrow planks, one or two feet above the water. Parents have varying degrees of comfort with situations where children might fall or hurt themselves. I seem to find myself on the more relaxed end of the spectrum. I see a moderate amount of pain or discomfort as a powerful teacher for a child. I don’t like to interfere too much with the teacher unless her methods are really dangerous.

Since I was at the front of the line, my attitude seemed to set the standard for the children. One of the girls was rather timid about crossing. I watched her face to see how courageous she really wanted to be. (Here’s what I did not do: assume she wanted my help, assume she was scared, or declare there was no reason to be afraid.) I asked if she wanted to hold my hand. Another child said she didn’t need help, and I think this girl felt emboldened to say she didn’t either. So I went across myself. Then she stopped and looked worried, so I asked her again. This time she said she wanted a hand, so I returned without comment and gave her my hand to cross. Later she began walking near my hand but not holding it. By the end of the walk, we were all crossing the bridges very confidently.

Safety for a child means emotional safety. I could judge the safety of those bridges in a way that she couldn’t, but only she could judge the level of trust in her own balance and reflexes. I left her to be the judge of that and offered my services where she needed them. That way she could experiment a little with her own capability, instead of taking my word for it. Independence of spirit is very valuable for a child.

there’s a tornado coming

I was at a park with a group of families for a campout once, and the weather was a little wet and stormy, with even a tornado warning. As usual at such an event, there was a lot of running around and excited shouting. Ariel, seven years old, came abruptly up to her parents, with whom I was talking at the moment. I didn’t really know her, although I knew she would be my student the next fall. She said, “There’s going to be a tornado!”

I asked her, “Are you scared about it, or are you excited?” She looked at me blankly for a few moments and then dashed away from us.

Ariel’s expression did not give much idea how she felt about her news, and so prompted my question. She seemed more interested in the effect on other people of the idea of a tornado than on herself. When I asked that question, maybe she didn’t really know the answer. It’s good for adults not to predict or assume what a child feels without some clear signal from the child. It takes many years for children to understand what they feel and what feelings are. (Let’s be honest; sometimes adults are still wondering.)

What children do have that many adults don’t is a fresh point of view. I can remember many times in my life when I witnessed people’s reactions to something and then came to regard the thing as wonderful or terrible. I’m very glad to allow children to develop their own judgment when there is no reason for me to impose my own.