Sawyer Has Learned Me a Lesson

One minute Sawyer is defiant about doing his work. He will pretend that he cannot write a sentence, even though I have convienently written it on three different dry erase boards in the room.

The next minute he is hugging me, asking me if I am proud of his work. (The work which I have had to continuously encourage him to do so that it can be put on the best work wall.)

Sawyer has learned me a lesson.

I cannot push him. He needs space to make his decisions. He is a child who must have choices. "You can do your work, or lose five minutes of recess." "You have ten seconds to decide if you want to sit where you are supposed to, or you can change your color." He needs encouragement. He needs a quiet undistracting space. He needs to know that he can make his own choices. Now when he pretends that he can't do his work, I laugh and say "Sawyer, really?" And he laughs back glad to know he is loved. I think he is glad to know that I expect much of him.

I am likely one of the most important people in his life. He spends his entire day in my classroom. He has no father figure in his life, since he passed away a year or two ago. I don't know about his mother. It seems that she might let him rule the roost with his rebelliousness.

Recently Sawyer got his birthday pencil for being six. Six years old and full of affection, intelligence, curiousity, tenacity . . . and loveableness.