2. Trust between child and adult is essential.

Anything is Possible Current Day Teacher Counselor I just received the greatest compliment that a teacher can get. When students leave Wright School, we hold a formal graduation ceremony, replete with cap and gown. Prior to the actual ceremony, we gather to share what we will miss about the departing student, and the student, in turn, says what he will miss about us. It is Russell's turn to say what he will miss about me. "I will miss the way that you showed me anything was possible." It was particularly amazing that it was Russell who was talking. Russell was plenty smart, but language came in and out of him like pieces of a newly opened jigsaw puzzle. By the time a basic outline of the meaning could be assembled in his mind, a new conversation had started and Russell was confronted with a whole new set of pieces. This would have been tragic if it was Russell's only hurdle, but it was just the one problem out of many that wasn't immediately obvious to others. Russell believed the videos that he watched. He believed that money and possessions meant love and happiness, and this hypothesis was supported by his experiences at home. He was poor. His single mother's main source of income was the social security she collected on the five disabled children she was raising. Although Russell's family loved him dearly, they were as disabled as he was. No one had the luxury of looking past their own needs so that they could attend the needs of others. Home was not a place of love and happiness in Russell's mind because it was not a place of money. School was no more successful for him. He always disappointed his teachers because no matter how hard they tried to look at how far he had come, they were always overwhelmed by how far he had to go. So without thinking, or for "his own good", they pushed him harder than was fair. Invariably Russell pushed back. Russell understood his situation. He was smart; he knew the score. He could tell you, if you were patient and had the time. He'd say that it did not matter how much he changed because nothing else in his life was going to change and no words would change his mind. He was right: nothing we said made a difference. But what we did, what everybody at our school who worked with Russell did, somehow sank in. Every day was a fresh start. External realties and past experiences never lowered our expectations of him. Every day Russell was recognized for what he did well. Every day somebody let him make his point, no matter how long it took. Every day somebody smiled and laughed at one of his jokes. Every day someone said no, and calmly, without anger or hate, held their ground. Every day somebody corrected an inappropriate response to a problem and made him practice the appropriate response. Every day Russell got the message; and eventually he pieced it together: He did have some control over his behavior, thoughts and reactions and therefore he had some control over his life. Russell was handsome, confident and articulate as he said his goodbyes and reflected on the lessons he'd learned, believing, at least once, that anything was possible.

3. Competence makes a difference, and children and adolescents should be helped to be good at something, and especially at schoolwork.

Ryan Learns to Read Former Diagnostician Ryan was a ten year old boy with an infectious smile. When he smiled, the muscles in my face involuntarily flexed into a responding grin. Ryan was friendly, affectionate and had the capacity to approach new tasks with enthusiasm and tenacity. He had many strengths, but reading was not one of them. Reading is the foundational skill through which most academic content is taught. As children, we learn written expression, science, social studies, technology and much of the arts through reading. As adults, we rely on our reading skills to navigate through life; reading the paper, road signs, the menu at our favorite restaurant, the TV guide, this month's book club selection. But Ryan couldn't read. When Ryan arrived at Wright School his reading skills were so limited that he was still unsure of sound-symbol associations. Ryan also had an arsenal of academic work avoidance tactics and strategies. He needed these to protect the fragile little ego that he had resulted from years and years of classroom failures. It quickly became apparent to the treatment team that providing Ryan with mastery experiences to build his self-esteem was essential. Reading was one big area of focus. Ryan was placed in a reading group at his ability level. He was given age-appropriate books that he could read, and he was read to. Ryan received remedial reading services from a reading specialist and language enrichment and therapy from a speech and language pathologist. Here at Wright School, we were doing everything we could to pump up Ryan's reading skills, to build his competence. All the efforts of the Wright School professionals were making a difference, we hoped, but the most powerful intervention for Ryan was implemented by his biggest fan, his own mother. Ms. Smith had expressed an interest in helping Ryan learn to read. She made a commitment to that process and came to Wright School every Friday to meet with the reading teacher. Ms. Smith became a student herself and learned different strategies to help her son learn to read. Ms. Smith learned about decoding, she learned about sight words, she learned about language experience stories. She also learned how to incorporate fun literacy activities into their weekends and family times. Ms. Smith loved it. Ryan loved it. Ryan learned to read. Competence made a huge difference in the lives of Ryan and Ms. Smith. Ryan learned that he was good at something and he began to perceive himself as a reader. Ms. Smith also learned that she was good at something, and perhaps, after many years of struggling with a BED child, she began to again perceive herself as a nurturing parent. The professionals at Wright School learned something too, or were reminded of a familiar lesson. We're not here to fix the child, but to help the child in the context of his or her ecosystem, in this case, the family, the mom. Once we joined with Ms. Smith in our efforts, that's when a truly meaningful outcome could be experienced beyond the walls of Wright School.

 

4. Time is an ally, working on the side of growth in a period of development when life has a tremendous forward thrust.

Time Is An Ally Current Clinical Case Coordinator Johnny was 8 years old when he first came to Wright School. Like many of our students and their families, life had been tough. Even at his young age, Johnny had an extensive history of psychiatric hospitalizations, unsuccessful school experiences, and encounters with an army of well meaning health care providers. He was a poster child for the troubled and troubling children of whom Hobbs spoke. After Johnny's first month at Wright School, his mother was amazed that we had not "kicked him out", because the staff that had worked with Johnny had all been battered, bruised, subjected to extreme verbal abuse and had had to prevent numerous bull dozing run-away attempts. The next months continued to be trying- some successes and some not so successful attempts to make headway with this young lad and his family. We learned a lot about the importance of treating time as our ally. First, we learned not to give up. When one member of the treatment team was down, another would rise to come up with a suggestion, idea, or even a story, that would help us laugh and challenge us to try again and again. We learned from Johnny's mother, who would often say to the team - "You, folks at Wright School, say what you're going to do and you do what you say". Johnny's success in treatment was due in no small part to the growing trust between Johnny's mom and the team, trust that developed with the passage of time. And finally, we learned to acknowledge the experience and strength of the parent(s) in the treatment process. Johnny's mother was initially distrustful and sometimes even combative. But with time, patience and perseverance, we began to really listen to and respect Johnny's mother's experience and knowledge of her son. In turn, she gradually became less and less suspicious and defensive, and began to trust us and respect our treatment recommendations. We learned even more than ever to stay calm, ask good questions, and to just simply listen! Today, Johnny is at home, and attending his community school. Time was our ally, working on the side of growth for both Johnny and his mother, as well as for us, as we learned and grew from the experience.

5. Self-control can be taught and children and adolescents helped to manage their behavior without the development of psychodynamic insight.

That Would Be Success Current Liaison Teacher Counselor The story of a student named Louie and his grandmother best exemplifies this principle for me. Prior to attending Wright School, Louie, like many of our students, had a history of failure in the school setting. He could barely control his rage and anxiety, let alone participate in academics. During the pre-admission tour, Louie's grandmother looked around the Olympian classroom in amazement and asked "Can you teach Louie to do that? If you could teach him to do that, that would be success." I inquired, "What do you mean by 'do that'?" She was referring to the children sitting quietly in their seats, waiting their turn to introduce themselves. A basic skill, sitting quietly, that Louie had not yet mastered despite the extensive psychotherapy and psychopharmacological interventions that had been tried in the past. I confidently replied that we would do our best to help Louie accomplish this goal and said that I was fairly certain that he would be able to do it by the time he graduated. Sure enough, within a few months at Wright School, Louie was able to sit quietly in his seat for satisfactory amounts of time. In addition, with a little help from teacher/counselors, he had learned to control many of his anxieties and the fits of rage that had plagued him in the past. Louie also made considerable headway in his ability to accomplish academic tasks. He began to see himself as a learner, and a reader. By the time he graduated, Louie was feeling much better about himself, and so was his grandmother! Three months after Louie's graduation from Wright School, his grandmother gave this report: "This child takes responsibility for his actions and can talk them over without getting mad. I recommend Wright School, they have turned my life and my grandson, Louie's, life from anger, to quiet conversation. He can play with other children, and when told, can come home without getting upset. Accepting "no" isn't a big problem any more. It used to be a major problem. So were rules. Thanks, Wright School."

6. Intelligence can be taught. Intelligence is a dynamic, evolving, and malleable capacity for making good choices in living.

Plugged In Former Resource Teacher Counselor Think about your typical classroom. Then put your atypical student with attention and auditory processing deficits in it. Desks move, students make noises, sirens scream in the background, doors open and close, pins drop, and the teacher tries to teach a lesson. In a classroom filled with distraction and a student whose eyes follow his ears and whose ears are subject to the whim of selection from any one of a hundred different sounds; the teacher is forced to overcome some fiercely competitive stimuli. This is coupled with the fact that if the student misses part of the lesson, he or she is not going to understand later parts of it. When the student decides that he or she doesn't understand the lesson's information, many times the decision is also made that the information is not worth attending to; or, at least, that other stimuli are more appealing. Now, your student is lost. This type of problem is not uncommon in the public classroom, and is an all too familiar scenario in the BEH classroom. For teachers, this very issue can elicit frustration that borders on unmanageable. So, what is the key to reaching a solution? Cognitive processing can be enhanced! Alex was a student with some definitive deficits in not only attending to and receiving external stimuli, especially related to academics, but also in processing that stimuli. However, when he had all that he needed to understand set straight in his head, he could be as focused and as diligent on a task as any student you might encounter. Unfortunately, his focus on either attending or performing, or both at once, was absent more often than it was present. Many times it would take the class period just to get him to understand the assignment and set to task; leaving the work unstarted and the other students ready to move on. Given that a great deal of his problem was just in receiving the information needed; what would happen if we could eliminate auditory distraction for Alex? What if we could make the only auditory stimuli available to him be the teacher's voice? Could this enhance his ability to perform? The answer is yes! Alex was given an auditory trainer in the classroom. The auditory trainer is a device with two parts. The first part is a microphone with a transmitter that hangs around the neck of the teacher or speaker. The second part is a pair of headphones plugged into a receiver for the microphone. While wearing the headphones, Alex could only hear what was being said by the teacher; all other sounds were drowned out. Whenever Alex used this device, he could take in the information as quickly as it was given. Not only did this eliminate the distractibility factor, it also eliminated the loss of information crucial for understanding later parts of the lesson. However, the real progress is yet to be recognized. The more you think in one way, the more your brain begins to process the information in that way. If you are a person who does crossword puzzles, you begin to think in crossword puzzle. If you speak a foreign language long enough, you will begin to think in that language. If you spend most of your processing time sorting out bits and pieces of half received auditory information, your thought patterns will become irregular and you will find it hard to process linear information. The information that you receive in a classroom is ordered to be dependent on previously received information, thus making it linear. When Alex began to receive all the information in the order in which it was intended to be received, he was able to establish a regular pattern of thought. This, in turn, allowed his thinking to become more efficient thereby improving his ability to successfully complete tasks. When he used the auditory trainer, he was able to finish his work at a much quicker pace and with greater accuracy. Even within a week, progress was noticed. In retrospect, we have looked upon the difficulties experienced by a child where enhancement was required on a cognitive level. Enhancing cognition is something often thought to be left to neurosurgeons. However, what we have found is that we are closer to the problem's source that we expected. Nearly anything can be nurtured if set in the right environment. In Alex's case we were able to modify his environment to the point of stimulating growth and development. His cognitive abilities were "nurtured" and responded with positive results. This lesson for those in the field of education is invaluable. Learning, performance, growth, and development are not always things that by themselves happen but must be helped to happen.

7. Feeling should be nurtured, shared spontaneously, controlled when necessary, expressed when too long repressed, and explored with trusted others ....

Alternatives to Hair Loss Former Day Teacher Counselor It is hard to imagine that a teacher faced with an enraged child would deny the significance of Hobbs' statement. During my first month of work at Wright School, I had a child attach himself forcibly to my head by grabbing my hair with both hands, yelling "I got her!". It was at this moment that I realized that Hobbs' emphasis on teaching children to express their feelings through words, not fists was a necessity, and not merely a good idea in this classroom. Re-ED teachers are not psychoanalysts -- our task is not to interpret the origins of our students' emotional states but to be responsive to the feelings that they express. Allowing students the safe space to explore their emotions and helping them to develop skills to communicate their feelings to others constructively is a dynamic process that lies at the heart of Re-Education. To address this seventh principle, a Re-ED classroom must be a place where children feel the security to express their feelings, whether positive or negative and where children can learn to recognize, name, and channel their feelings into safe outlets of behavior with the guidance of trusted adults. Not being able to communicate feelings to others contributes to children's difficulty managing their feelings. Without the verbal language skills to express emotions (I'm angry), a child's alternative is often inappropriate behavior (kicking over a chair). Helping a child move from such inappropriate outbursts to constructive problem solving is the art of a RE-ED teacher. The "Feelings Class" that I help teach with 8-10 year olds at Wright School is a creative attempt to increase our students' ability to express their feelings in words, not fists. One brainchild of the class has been the use of Mad Libs to help students develop a working vocabulary of emotions. The humor of the activity generates enthusiastic participation from the children. Wacky stories are written by teachers beforehand on large sheets of paper, with numbered blanks where the choices of names and feelings will go. Without looking at the story, the children generate a list of names and feelings that correspond to the numbers in the story. Once the list is finished, the choices are inserted into the story as it is read out loud. Both readers and pre-readers can actively participate this way. After the stories are written, children pick a line from the story and draw a picture to illustrate it. In one story the hit line was "Mr. (Teacher) was (feeling) when a large green bird landed on his head" which made for some creative drawing. Another method personalizes the process by having children explore their own feelings in "Feeling Journals" on a daily basis. In the feeling journals, the kids name a feeling they experienced during the day, and either draw a picture or write a few sentences detailing how they felt. We have also had children list one positive way to express the feeling as well as a negative way they could have responded. This activity allows kids to see that even negative feelings should be expressed and can be handled positively, and guides them into new choices for problem solving. Of course, these methods are just part of a larger process of purposefully helping children become aware of their feelings so that they can manage them. Ultimately, the reward is watching children develop a greater sense of themselves by handling their emotions in more constructive ways than rearranging my hair.

 

8. The group is very important to young people, and it can become a major source of instruction in growing up.

Dry Letters Former Resource Teacher Counselor Groups are very important to Wright School students. They can help students develop their sense of right and wrong. Membership in a group provides a source of powerful interaction for students, and groups can give immediate feedback to kids about the choices they make. The group is often the first place kids make friends. When students return to their regular schools, they bring with them the many lessons the group has taught: they learn how to respect others, and how to be the type of person other kids want to sit next to at the lunch table. These lessons can be painstaking to learn, but hold lifelong benefits beyond the walls of Wright School. Al was loud, moody, and cried a lot when he first came to Wright School. He cried for most of Monday and Tuesday, and though he was pretty dried up by Wednesday, he still leaked tears if mention was made of his mother, father, or home. Not only did Al cry, but his moody behavior kept the group from wanting to play with him. Al's teachers told him that even though it made him sad, he would need to get used to the transition from home to school each week. This never seemed to help Al much, and he just kept crying. His classmates became more and more irritated; they were tired of hearing it. One day a student suggested to Al that he write a letter home and tell his parents that he missed them. Al thought this was an interesting idea, so he began writing letters. At first, they were soggy from tears, and then, after several weeks, Al began mailing "dry" letters. Every day, at about 8:50 a.m., Al skipped down the hall, stationery in hand, eager to mail his letters home. Other kids caught on and started borrowing stationery from Al. He became the leading distributor of yellow flowery writing paper. From this, Al created a little classroom mail center. As soon as the students in his class came back from breakfast, it was mail time. Al was happier: much more pleasant to be around, much less likely to cry. He began to smile even when it wasn't Friday morning (when the kids get ready to go home for the weekend). Al even became popular. Everyone wanted to hang out with him at recess, play with him during break, and eat lunch with him back on the unit. He ultimately reached the Round Table, the highest level in his classroom. Al took many things back to school with him when it was time for graduation. With feedback, support and advice from the group, Al took control of his homesickness, made friends and became a positive leader.

9. Ceremony and ritual give order, stability, and confidence to troubled children and adolescents, whose lives are often in considerable disarray.

The Night There Were No Vitamins Former Evening Teacher Counselor When I first read this principle it made intuitive sense to me. Children whose lives are often unpredictable and inconsistent need to be relieved of the task of structuring their lives. Similarly these children need models to process big events in their lives such as entering a new community, the celebration of significant personal events, and leaving a community. When I took over as an evening teacher counselor for a group of 6 to 9 year olds, I was prepared to create and impose significant, powerful, meaningful rituals and ceremonies that structured emotionally chaotic times and modeled healthy, appropriate behavior. Almost immediately I learned that that was not my job. It is the children who know what they need and they are the ones who assign meaning, significance, and power to our actions. The best we, as concerned adults, can do is listen to the children and legitimize the ceremonies that they find meaningful. It was a typical Wednesday. I arrived at work, checked my box and withdrew a handful of memos, documents, and other vital information that needed my immediate attention. I walked directly to my office with every intention of examining my new collection of recyclable information, but first, a cup of coffee. I went to get my cup of coffee. On the way I heard one of my more energetic students expressing great disfavor with being asked to spend time by himself, away from the group. Knowing that he was a difficult child to move, I stuck my head on the unit and completely forgot about the pile of papers that was sitting upon my desk. Now, I do not want to mislead you. This was not the first pile of papers that had been forgotten on my desk. In fact Wednesday's papers were sitting on Tuesday's papers, Tuesday's papers were sitting on Monday's papers and the pile probably dated back to the last workday. But in this pile of announcements, reports and solicitations was a bit of information, inconspicuously written in pencil on a half sheet of paper, that, in retrospect, was of the utmost importance. It read "We are completely out of vitamins. Get more on Wednesday." As I said, I am an Evening Teacher in a residential facility, so it is up to me and my partner to get eight children, between the ages of six and nine with serious emotional and behavioral disorders to bed after working with them for the previous seven hours. Needless to say, my students and myself are at opposite ends of the energy continuum at bedtime. To help get the students settled in bed I told them that my partner and I would come around and give hugs, and sip of water when students were settled in bed. If you spoke out and asked for your hug or water, it would just delay its coming. This system, I believed, was set up completely for my convenience. It was vague enough (no time set on how long you had to be settled) to allow us time to visit all the children in a leisurely fashion and still provide them all with support and nurturance at bedtime. The system worked well and bedtimes were going smoothly. Even when our psychiatric consultant said that we needed to give daily vitamins to the students (because many psychotropic medications increased the need for certain nutrients in young bodies) I just slid it in the routine. Hug, vitamins, and water. No big problem. Until the Wednesday when the vitamins ran out. At the end of Wednesday's night evaluation meeting, before story time, I calmly announced that we had run out of vitamins and I had forgotten to replace them. So tonight we would just have hugs and water and the vitamins would be back on Thursday night. Story time was a little rockier than usual. The children could not handle sitting in a circle on the floor and had to return to the couches for the end of the story. This was unusual because story time is typically a favorite time and is calming for the kids. The closer bedtime got the less settled the kids became. It took a lot more effort, and another staff member, to get the kids in bed. Once in bed, no one was getting calm. But it was not until the third child asked me for a vitamin and I repeated that we did not have any that I understood what was going on. Once the realization was made that vitamins were an integral part of bedtime, a mad, frantic, and unfortunately fruitless search began throughout the school for eight vitamins. In the end I resorted to giving a small hard candy (something I swore I would never do) to get the kids settled instead of the vitamin and even then they asked me be sure I had vitamins the next night. If I had been asked, previous to this event, what to say part of our bedtime routine helped settle the children down, I would have said that it was the hugs. And I do think that the hugs are important but that is just my opinion. It is fun and necessary for us, as childcare professionals, to try to put ourselves in kid's shoes, to speculate on their motivations and try to deduce what they are thinking. But it often is more useful just to listen, listen to what the children are saying, and respect it.

 

10. The body is the armature of the self, the physical self around which the psychological self is constructed.

Denny's Big Grin Current Clinical Case Coordinator When I first met Denny, a short, freckled-faced eleven-year-old bundle of boundless energy who spewed epithets at the slightest provocation, I knew he would be a challenge. Until his admission to Wright School, Denny had found little success in his community and had a history of verbal and physical aggression and school avoidance. Denny had no friends and was virtually a nonreader. His school related difficulties centered around his immaturity, hyperactivity, distractibility, oppositionality, and language and learning disabilities. In Denny's production of written work and participation in physical activity, these difficulties were also compounded by motor deficits in the areas of overall body strength, balance, motor planning, visual motor integration and motor control. Never was Denny's need for occupational therapy to address his motor deficits more obvious than on a group outing to the lake. It was a perfect day in late August for the students to celebrate the end of summer at the lake. The group went armed with water toys, fishing poles and two kayaks. I offered one-on-one kayaking lessons for those who were interested. After a few simple instructions on grip and paddling technique, most of the kids were paddling like long time experts. When I began instructing Denny however, I knew that it was going to be a long afternoon. The first challenge was getting Denny in the kayak, but, with arms and legs flying, he finally managed. Paddling technique was another challenge. It took Denny a long while to control the paddle and get it to move the boat, and then he could only propel it backwards. He was trying hard, getting a little frustrated and about to give up when, with a little more modeling, he finally hit upon the proper stroke. When he realized he was paddling forward, he almost fell out of the boat with excitement. He started paddling around in circles with a big grin on his face. "Look at me! I can do it!", he shouted. With a little more instruction on steering, he was able to get the boat to do what he wanted and didn't want to stop to go eat. Denny's grandmother told me later that he couldn't stop talking about that day and what he had accomplished, and he has since wanted to rent kayaks whenever they have had an outing on the lake. After strategic intervention to address Denny's many special needs, his mastery of the kayak on this summer day became one of his many successes at Wright School. The grin I saw in the kayak that day became a daily thing as he began to believe in his competence to master even greater challenges such as reading, writing and friendship building. Denny also began his own fitness program and started taking part in physical activities with his peers instead of involving himself only in the parallel play typical of a much younger child. There were many reasons why Denny's self-esteem greatly improved while he was in treatment, but the fact that he grew to feel better about his body image and physical competence was an important one which helped him to build on the gains he had made after leaving Wright School. The picture I have in my head of Denny's big grin in the kayak that day will to me always be what Re-Ed is about.

 

11. Communities are important for children and youth, but the uses and benefits of community must be experienced to be learned.

A Tale of Two Families Current Day Teacher Counselor On a freezing day back in the year 2000, I had just finished spending three days and two nights at Wright School--we were literally snowed in! Staff had come together to make sure students were safe during a sudden snow and ice storm that had covered most of North Carolina. We had little sleep but a lot of fun and laughs. When the worst seemed to be over, staff began ferrying students home. Another teacher counselor and I got the lucky job of taking Frank and Tim to Raleigh since we also lived in the capital city. Wright School didn't have any four-wheel drive vehicles, so we had to make do with our trusty station wagon. Along the way, we endured Frank's and Tim's renditions of every Backstreet Boys song imaginable and even a few surprises. The traffic was horrendous and the roads were treacherous. However, we finally made it to our first stop on the outskirts of Raleigh. Frank lived off a long gravel road with many hills and curves. The 'ole station wagon, or Gert as I affectionately called her, had major issues with the mixture of ice and elevation. I was not feeling secure with my limited ice-driving experience (I grew up at the beach), so I pulled into the nearest driveway and put her in park so we still had heat. The next part is not a lie and I don't mean to sound like my grandpa, but Frank and I walked almost HALF A MILE through ice and snow, up and down hills, before we reached his house. Needless to say, Frank's parents were very grateful that we arrived safely. They were a sight to see, all bundled up in their skiiing clothes and scarves because they had no power or heat. Before I departed, to walk the half mile back to 'ole Gert, they wanted to give me something for my trouble. They had just returned from storm shopping at a local bakery, so I walked back up and down the hills to the heated station wagon with a freshly baked loaf of bread. It was actually a little warm so my hands were appreciative. When I returned, the other teacher counselor and Tim were nice and warm and had rosy cheeks. I think the Backstreet Boys were even playing on the radio. We took off again (another adventure) to deliver our last package safely near downtown Raleigh. The roads were still hazardous but I kept my cool. We arrived at Tim's house to find his grandmother crying hysterically. She had no food in the house and she had run out of her blood pressure medication. They had no car and she couldn't reach any family or friends. Tim's mood began to change and he seemed scared. We did what any Wright School Teacher/Counselor would do: we gave Tim's grandmother our loaf of bread and offered to pick up her medication. This meant going out onto the icy roads again, but Tim seemed to calm down so that was enough motivation for me. To wrap up this winter wonderland tale, both the students arrived home safely. Families helped meet each other's basic needs without even knowing it, and students, families and staff all shared a sense of community.

 

12. A child should know some joy in each day and look forward to some joyous event for the morrow.

Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy! Former Resource Teacher Counselor Wright School teacher/counselors draw on their diverse instructional styles and their rich range of interests and hobbies to inspire children. One teacher/counselor carefully plans group recitation to successfully teach the multiplication table using touch math. Another teacher/counselor, an avid amateur astronomer, guides a class as they study the planets and constellations. They learn to assemble a Newtonian reflector telescope and make plans for a late-night viewing of Mars. Whether a series of classes and activities or a one-time event, planned or spontaneous, the more opportunities and experiences children are exposed to, the better to ensure that every day each child has an opportunity to sample from the smorgasbord or eagerly await the next day's offering. I've seen this happen in my classes: Eight boys delight in following a recipe to mix dough, watch it rise, punch it down, breathe in its hefty aroma as it bakes, and finally feast on a freshly-baked loaf of bread slathered with butter. Marlene has difficulty grasping written music. She sticks with it. She is luminous as she plays the recorder with a group of students and teachers, the Wright School Pipers, during a holiday program for parents. Alexander often crawls under his desk, refusing to complete class work. During a course of study on Africa he is assigned a country to research and charged with presenting an oral report to the class. He discovers that he likes research. He reports on eight African countries and proudly points out his written reports that hang on the wall ... along with the country's flags that he's drawn and colored! Lee tends to hang back, not mingle and interact with peers. But he can't believe what has just happened. He and his seven classmates discuss what's occurred during a Social Relationship class during which they measured personal distance. The students form a semicircle ten feet from the student who is "it". One step at a time they are invited to draw nearer. The student who is "it" can stop anytime a classmate's proximity makes him uncomfortable. All seven students choose Lee to step forward until he stands next to them. Their explanation: We trust Lee. He's a nice guy. Lee beams, "I didn't know they liked me." Caroline masters the rules of writing haiku poetry and pens, Red roses and love Both special, make you happy. Hugging and smiling. Teresa constructs a paper monkey that's almost as tall as she is. Her paper quetzal, has long, brilliant feathers. They'll both adorn Wright School's hallway rain forest. Her handiwork pleases her. She asks me to make one of each for her brother. She concludes they'll give him as much pleasure as they give her. Spread the joy. Ten-year Duncan doesn't look at me as I introduce myself to him on his first day at Wright School. I explain to Duncan that I'm the resource teacher, that I "teach all kinds of classes and come into classrooms when teachers are out sick or on vacation." During his second week at Wright School, Duncan hesitantly trails his classmates as he enters my Creative Movement class. He stands back and watches his seven classmates stroll to a specified area of the room, remove their shoes and socks, then scatter to their hand-picked "personal spots" to begin their warm-ups. Duncan walks slowly over to me. "I can take off my shoes, but don't want to take off my socks," he says. His voice is barely audible. He does not look at me. I explain to Duncan that moving around on a tiled floor in socks isn't safe, that I don't want him to slip and injure himself. "I don't want to take off my socks," he whispers. Still no eye contact. "Okay, Duncan," I say, "Be careful." Duncan selects a personal spot at the back of the room. I begin the class. I put on the music. I change it often. Sometimes classical, sometimes reggae, sometimes rock, sometimes jazz. Always albums. Many of the kids have never seen an album. Albums are passé. "Show me a ball bounding down the stairs," I instruct. Then, "Can you do that in slow motion? I pull a feather out of a bag. "If I drop this feather, how will it fall?" They show me, using all the muscles we've talked about, drifting gently to the floor. "Now a strong wind is blowing. What are the feathers doing." I model. I whirl around the room, sometimes on tiptoe, sometimes dropping close to the floor. The kids show me their wind-whipped feathers. Duncan stops. Duncan strides purposely to the back of the room. I pretend not to watch. A dozen scenarios run through my mind. I don't know which is playing out in Duncan's mind. I don't know. I simply watch. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Duncan as he removes his socks, tucks them into his shoes and rejoins the class. He tries to catch my eye. I don't comply. He moves closer to the front of the room. He bends like a country road, freezes like a museum statue, is a blossoming tulip in spring, moves with a giraffe's grace, all with joyful abandon. And all the while, Duncan smiles. After class Duncan walks up to me. His step is more confident, and he looks at me as he approaches. "Did you see, I took off my socks!" Happy, happy, joy, joy!

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