Before I retired, I taught students with disability for more years than I remember. The number of years isn’t as relevant as what I learned along the way, and the number of students whose lives I hopefully improved in the process. One of the most significant things I learned, and what got me out of trouble more than any other technique, was the gentle art of distraction in behaviour management.
My Teaching Journey
When I had the opportunity to gain my Special Education qualification, full-time and on my teacher salary, I felt like I was going to Academia Heaven. The course was gruelling, but I loved it, and during that year of intense study, I was introduced to Applied Behaviour Analysis.
Gary LaVigna and Tom Willis, who founded the Institute of Applied Behavior Analysis (IABA), came to Australia from Los Angeles every two years to present lectures and workshops. As a student in the Graduate Diploma of Special Education, I was able to attend a lecture by Tom Willis. The lecture changed my life. For the next decade of my career, I took every opportunity I could to be inspired by either of these two incredible educators, whenever they were in Brisbane.
And the one thing I learned that made my job so much easier was the gentle art of distraction. Tom Willis described how he used distraction to diffuse situations that might otherwise end badly.
After the Grad. Dip. in Spec. Ed., I enrolled in a Master’s degree, part-time (teaching all day, studying at night) to learn more about Applied Behaviour Analysis. A few years later, I changed schools and moved into an administration role. My focus was on behaviour management and offering support to parents.
Boat, What Boat?
One of my most memorable students was Jesse. Jesse was memorable for a lot of reasons that are worthy of a chapter or two in a future book. Actually, I could write a whole book about Jesse.
Jesse’s teacher called me during class time to report that Jesse had stormed out of the classroom. I checked his usual hiding spots, but he was not in any of them. I was about to call for reinforcement when I detected a movement at the back of a building. It was Jesse, and he was walking towards the back fence that divided the school campus from the housing estate on the other side.
When I caught up to Jesse, he had a hammer in his right hand, and when he saw me, his arm slowly moved upwards. With the hammer poised above his head, the next movement, I predicted, would be to deliver a blow to whatever his mind was set on destroying. I hoped it was the fence, but realistically figured that the soon-to-be ‘smashed’ object might be my head. In that split second of self-preservation I remembered Tom Willis’ example of distraction. I looked beyond the fence and exclaimed “Oh my gosh! Who put that boat there?”. Luckily, someone had parked a boat on the easement of land behind the fence, thus providing the perfect prop for testing my ‘art of distraction’ theory. Jesse stood there, hammer poised in the striking position, and asked ‘What?”.
“How did that boat get there? Was there a flood and when the water went down, the boat was left there”, I asked? With the hammer still poised, Jesse replied “No, it’s always been there”. I kept the momentum going with questions and comments, and noticed Jesse’s grip on the hammer relaxing, just a little. The more I questioned, the more relaxed he became, and his right arm slowly started moving towards the ground.
After a few minutes, I was convinced that the moment of anger had passed, but I kept the banter going a little longer, just to be sure. When I felt the moment was right, I suggested that Jesse and I go into my office for a chat. We had played out the ‘chat-in-the-office’ routine often enough for him to know that it was a positive, not negative experience.
As we walked, I casually asked Jesse what he was going to do with the hammer, and he just as casually said he might put it in the janitor’s work shed. I agreed, and we handed the hammer over to a very grateful janitor.
Rapport
There are a couple of things that enabled this situation to end well. Jesse knew he could trust me to treat him fairly. I might have to use disciplinary measures at times, but I never held a grudge. Each day was a new day. Transgressions were dealt with at the time of the incident, and we both moved on.
The most important element was rapport. I’m not sure if rapport can be taught, or learned, but it is essential, in my opinion, in any teacher’s toolkit. I had already established rapport with Jesse at the beginning of the school year.
I never took Jesse’s behaviour personally. Those quirky behaviours were his way of dealing with frustration and the world around him. It was my job to teach him a better way to handle stressful situations.
And I never launched into the ‘why’ questions until Jesse had completely calmed down – then we would talk. In the ‘eye of the storm,’ Jesse was not capable of listening or understanding. He needed to be in a calm state before we could discuss the issue, or any consequences.
By using the gentle art of distraction, the focus was shifted away from the anger, away from the frustration. It gave Jesse something else to focus on.
But what if there is no boat?
It happened! Not with Jesse, but in another school, and with another student. Tess had absconded from the classroom, and by the time I found her, she was close to the back fence of the school – on the wrong side of the back fence. My biggest fear was that Tess would run, and I would be no match for her.
There was no boat over the back fence, but luckily I knew Tess was interested in wildlife. Rather than rush towards her, I ambled along and started picking up pieces of rubbish. Tess watched from her safe vantage point. I edged closer but was still half-a-playground from her. If nothing else, Tess was intrigued with my apparent lack of interest in what she was doing. And then I stopped. As I picked up another piece of rubbish, I nonchalantly called out and asked Tess if there was any rubbish near her. ”Yes” she said, warily. Then came the question I was hoping for:
“Why?”.
I called out that I was concerned about birds picking up the rubbish. Tess started to move towards the gate – then through the gate – and finally towards me, as I continued the dialogue: “Why do kids throw rubbish around? Don’t they know it can kill birds and small animals?”.
By the time we met in the middle, Tess was thinking about wildlife. We talked about what we could do to highlight the issue, and decided that posters around the school might help.
I didn’t have to put my running shoes on to chase her (which rarely ever works anyway), and we had averted a potentially dangerous situation.
And while we designed posters about rubbish and wildlife, we talked about the issue that had initially upset Tess. The catalyst was frustration over something she felt she had no control over. Again, my job was to teach her a better way of dealing with frustration. We worked on that – in the long term, but for now, I returned a calm student to her classroom.
The main thing that ensured the success of this approach was rapport. The students knew they could trust me to stay calm and treat them fairly. At the beginning of each school year, I listed each student’s interests, what motivated them, and what triggers could set them off. And I found something to love about each student.
The next day was always a new beginning.
I loved my job!
