Adam, one of my former sixth grade students, was a classic middle school resister. Sometimes he wouldn’t even get out a pencil and paper and pretend that he was engaged in the work of school. It was a good day when Adam put his name on his paper and attempted to write a sentence in Language Arts, or to complete a single math problem.
After class early in the year, I found a note on the floor. It was to Julie, a girl from another class. In the letter, Adam begged her to take him back. Apparently, they had broken up the week before and he was heartbroken. I didn’t read the note in detail (it wasn’t my business to do so), but I learned that in a context outside of my
class, Adam was quite willing to write, and from the little I read of the note, I realized he knew a lot about how to persuade.
So why the resistance to write in class?
There are many reasons, but one reason Adam resisted is because he was good at it. Resisters are better at not doing work than doing work. Some of our students have had years of practicing resistance.
Adam was not a behavior problem. He just didn’t want to do any work – or, perhaps more accurately, he didn’t want to do the work I provided. I tried giving him failed grades, and I often called or met with his parents. I kept him in during lunch to do work. I lavished him with praise when he accomplished anything, even something as simple as bringing his books and a pencil to class. Nothing worked – the only thing he got better at was resisting.
I fell down the rabbit hole of a punishment and reward systems because I wasn’t sure what else to do. So how can we motivate students like Adam? Alfie Kohn reminds us to think of motivation with a new lens:
… the question educators need to ask is not how motivated their students are, but how their students are motivated.
The change in course for Adam came when I found the note to Julie, and when I decided to talk to him the next day. We
learned a lot about each other when I told him I found the note. At first, he was
mortified that I found it. He wasn’t worried about being in trouble - he was embarrassed. I assured him I hadn’t even read the entire note. I just told him that it was obvious that he could write when he chose to. I asked him why he hated writing so much in class. He provided some typical middle school responses: everything from “I don’t know” to “It’s kind of boring” to “I never can think of what to write about.” Our discussion that day did not lead to miraculous changes. Adam did not suddenly love writing. But he did know he could trust me. In the act of asking him what he thought about his resistance, I made him part of the equation in a respectful way. Prior to this, all the adults in his life were trying to “fix” him, to figure out what was “wrong”, but now, he was part of a conversation. outside of any punishments or rewards. I was just honestly curious. And I learned that Adam didn’t need fixing at all – he just needed to be part of a conversation. He became more motivated because I listened to him.
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