I’ve written about my “chaos class” several times this month. First, when faced with my exasperated declaration, “fine, you choose what we study!” they shocked me by choosing Romeo & Juliet. Then, there were several incidents of bullying which led to me giving them a very serious dressing down. Then we had March Break (and let me tell you, we needed it). 

When we returned from break, I knew I had to have my “strict teacher” persona firmly at the fore for a little while so that the students didn’t think their appalling pre-break behaviour was acceptable. I hate the strict teacher persona and find it exhausting, but I did it: I made sure every cell phone was in a backpack, every notebook on a notebook, every tardy explained or excused. The strictness was necessary, but it wasn’t going to be enough. “Strict teacher” gets compliance, but a truly effective class has more; we needed engagement. (I mean, if I am 100% honest, then yes, with this class at least a little compliance would be nice because the class needs to function, but I also hope that they will be engaged.) Engagement, however, requires some vulnerability, which means being able to trust that we won’t be mocked, which in turn means it’s hard to learn in a room with even one bully – and we have more than one.

My being strict might stop the bullying I could see, but it wasn’t going to change anything once my back was turned. I needed more. I needed kindness – not mine: theirs.

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When we were little, no matter how often we fought, the punishment that united my sisters and me against our parents was “ten nice things.” All three of us hated it. It was the worst. It went like this: if we were really really awful to one another – especially in the car – then our mother would stop everything and make us say ten nice things to one another. Ten! TEN! Worse, after three or four rounds of “I like your hair. I like your shoes” she would tell us it couldn’t be anything physical, which left us having to say at least six things we actually liked about the other person. It was awful. And it worked every time: by the end, we would be super mad at our mother and kind of ok with our sister. My mother was not dumb.

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When I was teaching at a very small school in Washington DC, the Dean of Faculty once split us into groups of four or five teachers and gave each group an enormous stack of sticky notes. One teacher sat in the centre while others wrote compliments on the sticky notes for a few minutes. Then, we read the sticky notes out loud and stuck them onto the teacher in the centre of the group. It was awkward and a little cheesy, and listening to our colleagues compliment us made each one of us a little emotional. I saved my sticky notes for years; I know others did the same.

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Punishment? Compliments? I wanted my students to dig deep and find something nice to say about each of their peers – and I wanted each person in the classroom to feel valued. I needed them to practice kindness until they felt it. 

I got out the sticky notes. On Day 1, I put five names on the board. Everyone had to write nice things on the stickies. I wrote, too. The notes could be anonymous, but I reviewed every note as it was handed to me. One student wrote “You have a nice smile” five times. I told them to start over. One student wrote “You are nice.” I asked for specificity. One student wrote “You are perfect in class” – an obvious lie – I told them that lying was as unkind as writing something mean because “it shows you can’t be bothered to think of something true.” Eventually, everyone finished. I gave the stacks of kind words to the five students as the rest of us began to work. Each student read through their notes. One girl, well liked and clever, whispered to me “this feels really good” and then slipped the post-its quietly into her purse. One boy read only a few of his, then immediately tucked them away. After class, I saw him in the hallway, alone, reading through the notes.

On Day 2, both the bullied and the bully’s names were on the board. I did not require the bullied student to write to the bully, but I did require the bully to write to everyone. I read every note, paying particular attention to those going to the bullied student. I returned a few for improvements, but I was impressed by how many students wrote truly kind and thoughtful notes to their ostracized peer; he wasn’t as alone as I had feared. Again I handed out the stack of post-its as we started an activity. Once most students were working, I glanced around at the students who had received the notes. The student on the receiving end of the bullying was furtively wiping tears from his eyes. I made my way over to him to ask if he was ok. “No one has ever said anything this nice to me before,” he whispered. He spent much of the rest of class arranging and rearranging the notes in his notebook. 

We’ll be done with this activity tomorrow. By then, everyone will have received a stack of kindness from their peers. I was feeling so good about this that I let down my guard a little today, and immediately phones came out and people talked so much during the balcony scene that I had to pause the video. They’re still the same kids. Still, I hope that some of them are just a little kinder than they were two weeks ago. 

And hey, if they start picking on each other again, I might just channel my mother: after all, my sisters and I had to say ten nice things to each other far more than once before it really stuck – and now we’re good friends.

PS – I saved this one for the last day of March not only because it’s ongoing but also because every year this month of writing challenges me to look closely and seek good things to share; and every year the kindness of others’ posts and comments buoys me. Community and kindness are hallmarks of this March challenge – now in my classroom, too.