How I know I’m getting somewhere

Peter has finished his assignment, and is writing on a white piece of paper that he’s folded neatly in thirds.  I look around the classroom; other early finishers are drawing on the back of the worksheet, or reading.  I look at the paper–the folds aren’t typical of the cootie catchers the second graders are obsessed with of late.  His teacher gives me permission to take him on a walking break; he heads to the door and then hands me the paper.  “After the walking break, can we talk about this?”  In his small, precise handwriting, I read the words I’ve typed on the top of a three-column chart–the very chart he refused to even look at, two hours ago, when I interrupted a conflict that involved him yelling at two other kids.  He has, on his own time, recreated the chart, because he is, on his own time, trying to solve the problem.


how i see it                       the other viuw                    midle ground

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