“People grow when they are well loved. If you want to help others heal, love them without an agenda. "~ Mike McHargue
I learned some of my greatest life lessons in 5th grade.
I was an average student who was below average in my early elementary school years. I came home with a steady flow of B, C, and the occasional E in second language subjects. I was told not to apply, and as it is clearly stated on every testimonial I have ever brought home, I have talked too much.
At least that was the story as I understood it.
I did not write when I should write. I talked to my peers while the teacher gave instructions. Being able to recite what she had said to the class during the conversation did not help because it interfered with my classmates' study.
So I regularly brought disappointing reports home with me.
My parents and my teachers did not know what to do with me. Punishments didn't seem to work. It didn't seem to be rewards either. And honestly I don't think I knew what to do to apply for myself. And I certainly didn't know how not to enjoy talking to my classmates! What I knew was that I talked too much and lived this story like a badge of honor.
Up to 5th grade.
We had a sudden teacher change that fall when our older teacher was on medical leave. In his place came a young deputy – woman. Royal. She looked fresh from college and seemed too young to be in charge of a class of tween, but there she was, indicted with a lively group, and me.
I don't remember a lot of the details of this year – funny how that works – except for two. A reminder is blocked because I have a photo of Mrs. Royal and myself. It was recorded in the playground. She was behind me with her arms around my shoulders, her hands folded on my chest. We both smiled. I was wearing a pink floral dress so I suspect it was school photo day.
The second memory is the afternoon on which I received my first testimonial from her.
She handed out the testimonials right after the afternoon break and invited us to look at them. Then she let us know that we could all talk quietly while she called each student individually in alphabetical order to discuss our testimonials with her.
I looked at my report card and expected the usual feedback. I read it through carefully and checked again in case I missed something. I made sure that it is definitely my testimony and not someone else's. Although we had been given permission to speak to each other, I had very little to say to friends as I waited anxiously for her to call my name.
When it was my turn, she started with a warm smile: "So, Judith, do you have any questions for me?"
I remember looking at her, looking down at my report card, and then putting it on the desk between us when I said, "I don't understand."
"What do you not understand?"
"I don't get an A, let alone a clear A", I remember the burst. "And besides, nowhere does it say that I talk too much."
I watched her closely in those moments and saw how she bit her lip and then cleared her throat.
“Well Judith,” she began, “I thought you already knew you talked too much, so I thought I could tell you some things that you might not have known, so wrote i put these things on. As for the grades, you earned the A's so I gave it to you. "
"Oh," I said and then looked down at the testimony in front of me, blank. "Thank you."
I had no other questions. What else could I have asked?
In her response, she confirmed that this was indeed my testimony and that there was no mistake in what I read.
I don't even remember what my parents had to say when I brought it to their home.
From that day on something changed. I picked up the narrative of someone who was able to do "straight A" and who might have different qualities than a student who talks too much in class.
The trend towards "Straight A" continued. In seventh grade I remember my best friend at the time and was kept on the bus as an exemplary “quiet student”.
Getting good grades was exactly what I did as I progressed in my academic career. With allowances for organic chemistry at the university in the first year, of course!
But it wasn't until years later – in my early thirties – that I really came to appreciate the gift from Mrs. Royal. At this point, I was the mother of a young preschooler and I was starting to think about what my daughter's school life might be like as she was like me in so many ways.
At that time I was thinking about this testimony. I pulled it out of the box of childhood memorabilia and read it again.
I wondered if Mrs. Royal had been following a particular doctrinal paradigm when she wrote this. In my terminology for therapists, this testimony reflected a strengths-based approach. She pointed out all the positive personal qualities and resources that I could rely on to achieve learning outcomes.
And that's exactly how she changed me in some of the comments in a document that was important to my life. My outlook. My attitude. My self-image. My behavior. Without a behavior plan. Without the proverbial carrots and whips. Without stickers or money jugs. She changed me when she saw me. Warts and such. And still loved me.
In doing so, I learned three important life lessons, none of which were covered in the 5th grade curriculum.
First I learned that the stories that are told to us by the important people in our lives matter. They shape us and shape us for good or bad. As a result, I have been careful to tell others that I care about stories based on their strengths and skills, even though I acknowledge their struggles and weaknesses.
Second, the quality of our relationships is important. Mrs. Royal not only tolerated me. I knew in my heart that she really did care about me. Because it was not only what she said to me, but also how she said it. With warmth, friendliness and respect.
Your unconditional positive consideration opened up endless possibilities for me. She respected me. And I respected her. This understanding has been fundamental in my life and work with children. Respect is a basic requirement for security and trust.
And finally in 5th grade I learned the most important lesson of my life. It was the lesson that strengthened and focused my practice as a child therapist. It supports my passion for working with parents and caregivers to help them realize their children's potential. It supports me in my role as a mother.
I've learned that real change and growth don't have to take years. It doesn't even have to take months. Change – real change – can happen in a moment. The moment someone can see, hear and appreciate you. Your strengths. Your worth. Your dignity. And honor yourself despite your weaknesses and mistakes.
Really being seen, heard and understood and still being loved – that is a true agent of change and the basis for all meaningful growth and development. It certainly was for me.
About Judith Pinto
Judith Pinto combines her innate love for communication with her passion for helping children. She once received a card from a child that said, "Thank you for helping me find my smile!" Judith knew then that she was in the right place and doing the right things for the right reasons. She is now focused on teaching parents how to help their own children find their smiles. You can start with their free training.
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