This is what I say to my tiny students all day, “Good job, good job, nice work, good job, thank you for doing that, great work, keep it up.” In order to encourage appropriate behavior I have over emphasis the good stuff. If a kid is being a naughty and you correct his behavior, the next time you see him making a good choice you have to support it with a “good job.” Who doesn’t want to hear that they’ve been doing a good job? This prompts better behavior and teaches them to avoid the old behavior (which is usually redirected or ignored–no need to dish out equal attention for naughtiness).

“Putting you shoes on by yourself? Good job! Need to know what to do? You could look at ‘Lucy’ who is sitting criss cross with her hands in her lap, thank you Lucy! (Imagine the kids scrambling to mimic Lucy so they can get a ‘good job’ nod as well). At times I feel like I have an endless stream of positive feedback for every little child that stumbles my way. We have some very good times together, my preschoolers and I.

Because I am deep down a pessimist, I am constantly working on presenting the most positive image as possible in my adult life. Like my students, I revel in recognition, affirmation of a job well done, and therefore I am eager to make those around me feel successful. However, I am not doing very well with the adult aspect of this job, stumbling to learn the ropes, feeling constantly corrected, trying to do the right thing, and having many awkward moments. It’s not my home, not my program, not even my students and the negativity creeps up in my throat and threatens to lash out. I was reminded recently that I am, indeed, an open book. While I am determined to stay tight lipped and demure, something must come across my face like a shadow and my annoyance is betrayed. My face gives me away, which results in more tension.

For some reason, we went on a half mile walk with these tiny children and it was difficult for all of them. Walking in a single file line for a half mile with folders and bags and coats is a lot to ask of preschoolers. One of the smallest ones fell, splat, on her face and I swooped in and did what I do best: soothed. I have become very good at curing the barely injured–it used to be terrifying to me when a child hurt themselves, my stomach balling up in a knot at the sound of their cries. Now I use my patented technique of hugging and rubbing the injured spot (lot’s of rubbed elbows, hands, and heads). It works every time. As a huge cry baby myself, it’s amazing to me that I can cease other’s crying by simply rubbing their hand in my mitten and saying, “all better.”

When as children do we phase out the approval, the support, the positive feedback? Middle school? Surely by high school my teachers no longer felt the need to give praise, substituting a passing grade for approval. Perhaps, I have not outgrown the need to hear “all better.” I realize, as I try hard not to lose it driving home, that I need to treat myself like I do my students, and I tell myself, “It’ll be all right, it will be okay, you’re fine.” Even if I don’t believe it…