Children Teaching Other Children
Because any teaching is severely hampered by attention seeking, disruptive students, the adult in charge needs to have ideas how to handle these situations.
Peer tutoring is a sound and well-recognized technique that not only helps the child being taught, but also helps the child who is doing the teaching. As the following examples show, such tutoring benefits the entire class. This has been the most rewarding thing I have ever tried, and has never failed.
Nicole and David
Nicole was always the first one finished and very well behaved. David, on the other hand, couldn’t sit in a chair or hold on to his pencil and was constantly making annoying little noises. I wasn’t making much progress with him.
After several months, I saw a plastic bat and ball at a toy store and decided it would be something different for us to use on the large, grassy field, and might be an incentive to those who were still struggling. Little did I know. On the first day out, David was batting a thousand! When he saw my surprise he told me that his dad practiced with him. Great! I thought. I stood on the sidelines and watched. When he was in the outfield, he caught every ball. He was everywhere at once, fast on his feet, and the balls went straight to his mitt like flies to flypaper. I really couldn’t believe my eyes; he was small, even for a first grader.
Next, I noticed that when I threw to Nicole her hands crossed each other and the ball hit her in the chest. You could tell that she had no experience with catching a small ball. Then I got an idea. I called them both to me and asked David if he’d tutor Nicole in catching after he was finished with his work. He really liked that idea. Then I asked Nicole if she’d tutor David with his letter sounds on the syllable chart. (See table of contents) She willingly agreed.
So, whenever David was finished with an assignment the two of them went out on the covered patio where I could see them through the window. Nicole took the chart rack and yardstick and David took the tennis ball. I gave them a three-minute timer and put David in charge of it. Nicole taught that boy to read, and of course, he taught her to catch. David was a changed boy; he was able to sit in his chair and hold on to that pencil. He even became a hard worker.
The Bossy Girl
One year, I had a very contrary, argumentative and sassy first-grade girl. She interrupted constantly, bossed the other students around and had most of the class complaining about her daily. Worst of all was the way she treated her mother, who had no control over her.
One day she told me that she knew how to play the board game “Sorry.” I jumped right on that information and asked her to bring it to school and teach the class. This she willingly did. The next day I brought in a card table, set it up outside our door, took out four chairs, chose the four best-behaved students to go first, and set her to the task. She was a natural. Walking around the table, she gave detailed instruction to her classmates. When the game was over I sent out another four, and so forth until she had taught the whole class.
That afternoon we did watercolor painting. While I walked around the room coaching on how to keep the brush wet but not too wet, I stopped at her desk and stared in disbelief. She, who had always been very messy in all of her work, was now neat. When I asked her how she did it, she simply glanced up and announced, “I changed.” And she did. For the rest of the year her writing and painting stayed neat. She continued to be somewhat bossy but the rest of the class could handle it better. She did her best to remember not to interrupt, and improved in general. She also took instruction from her mother much better.
She Who Made Baskets
Years ago a severely emotionally disturbed “Lakesha” was placed in my room. She would not speak in a regular voice. Instead, she chattered incessantly in an undecipherable language of her own invention. When she wasn’t doing that, she was making bird-chirping noises. To make matters worse, she hung on me, wrapped both arms around my waist and lifted her knees off of the floor, all the while making a variety of these noises. If I tried to remove her arms and get her into a chair, she screamed so loudly that I just let her be and walked around the room as best I could with her hanging on me. I had to teach the class to ignore her distractions. My assistant refused to deal with her and told the principal so, but my many complaints to him got me nowhere and so I cornered the school psychologist every day to find out what was being done about the child.
After about a month of this, Lakesha came to school with a basket she’d made out of folded paper. I looked at it, praised her nice work, and asked her if she’d like to teach the class how to do it. She nodded, smiling broadly. Good! My hope was that now she’ll really have to try to talk so that others will understand her. I was using the Ticket Plan (See table of contents) with my class that year and so I set a little sign on her desk that said, “Basket Making Lessons Only 2 Tickets.” I showed the rest of the class her basket. She could see their excitement as I explained that after they had finished with their morning writing they could go to her table and get lessons. I managed it so that no more than three were going at a time, and by lunchtime she had taught the whole class. She started to calm down right away.
A few days later I let the class use multicolored play clay at a center, and Lakesha made tiny hot dogs, fruits and such. I was astounded at the near perfect sculpturing of her tiny items and showed them to the class immediately, asking who would like lessons when they finished. Of course, there was wild enthusiasm and so I made another sign about lessons and placed it on her desk. This time it would cost three tickets. I choose a few who had already finished to get started and you could guess the rest. Lakesha got rich with tickets, and she began to take part in class activities. A few days later she came to me and said, in a halting but understandable voice, that she wanted to learn to read and write.
I turned to the class and asked who would like to give Lakesha lessons with the Syllable Game Cards (see table of contents) and the whole class raised their hands. I asked Lakesha to choose someone to play the game with her and by that afternoon her writing was up on the bulletin board.
Now, was her giftedness in making things or teaching others? I don’t know, maybe both. My only part was to seize the moment and turn it into an enjoyable, fruitful, educational experience for all of us. As parents and teachers, what more could we want? Here’s another example.
He Who Made Airplanes
In another class, before I had discovered puzzle therapy, or taught my children to draw first, I had an inattentive boy. I had tried everything I knew at the time, but could not get much response from him. One day he made a paper airplane and flew it across the room. I seized the moment and asked if he could teach the rest of the class. He spent that afternoon giving lessons to small groups and I then organized flying contests. He was a different child after that. By the end of the year, he had become a good reader and his second-grade teacher told me that he was the best reader in her class. This has served as a reminder to me that I should always stay creative; because no matter how much fun the reading games are to most students, there are some who need something else first!
Dawn and Ann
At the beginning of one school year, the itinerant music teacher came to my room to announce that five of my students would have the opportunity to take beginning music class with the recorder. He also hinted on the side that good listening skills and high test scores would be requisite. I told the class that I thought they all would enjoy it but that I would have to pick the absolute five best listeners, and I didn’t mention the test scores. Many disappointed sighs could be heard in the room. I felt badly for them, but I got an idea just as the music teacher was leaving. I called out to him and asked if he could get extra recorders for us, if we paid for them, explaining that I would get the five to teach their classmates what they learned. He momentarily looked surprised, but readily agreed.
A few weeks later I received the extra instruments. I gave the class a little talk about how much they would enjoy their recorder if they practiced, that it was small enough to keep in their backpacks, and that if they kept learning new songs it would provide them with hours of pleasure and a means to entertain their family and friends for the rest of their lives. I then passed them out and asked if the five would mind starting their lessons at recess.
That idea didn’t work so well. Too many distractions on the playground, besides inviting too much curiosity from others, so I made copies of the music and let them have some time in the class to practice with one another. Some took it seriously and practiced at home, too. A week or so passed, but for the most part, their instruments were idle. I was beginning to think that I’d made a mistake. It seemed that, along with our rigorous reading and math program, we really didn’t have much time.
Then, one day, when the five left for their weekly lesson, some of the class begged to have practice time instead of reviewing multi-step word problems. I thought a moment or two, and then told them to put away their math books. “Okay, I said, “Who’s been practicing?” Several raised their hands and played “Hot Cross Buns” fairly well.
Then it was Dawn’s turn. She played perfectly. “How did you do so well?” I asked, not able to believe what I heard. “Practice,” was her simple reply as she walked back to her seat. I just sat and stared in amazement. “How often do you practice?” came my next question. “Every day.” she answered matter-of-factly. Still I sat and stared. “How many minutes a day?” I pressed on. She looked surprised now, “Well, about 20 or 30 minutes, I think.” Still I sat staring, amazed at this child. “You practice that thing for 20 or 30 minutes every day?” my professionalism beginning to slip. “Yes,” came her innocent reply, “isn’t that what you said to do?” Another child’s voice broke the rapt silence of the room. “She takes it with her to the store! I’ve seen her! I’ve seen her playing it while she’s walking down the street!” “That’s true?” I asked, “Do you really do that?” I’m almost breathless now. She nods slowly and glances around the room, beginning to smile. “That’s wonderful!” I fairly shout. “That’s just wonderful!” I repeat, making sure everyone catches the point.
“Well, how would you like to be one of the teachers of the recorder?” She agrees readily and I place two chairs on the walkway just outside the open door and choose Jessie as her first student. I tell the rest to get their books back out, indicating that we’ll continue with math until Dawn is ready for her next student.
Five minutes later her first student comes in, goes before the class and now plays perfectly. We clap and congratulate him. Dawn is leaning against the doorpost smiling.
I send Ann next. We go back to work. Some time passes unnoticed; we were really engrossed in how to figure out the word problems, when Marie, anticipating her turn, blurts out, “Haven’t they been out there a long time now?” I looked up, staring intently at the open door, the room totally quiet as I listen. “Look Ann, like this! That’s right. No, no, not so hard. That’s better. No, No that’s too soft. Cover the holes better. Hold your head up! There, that’s it! No, Ann, not like that. Watch me. See?”
We all sat listening for several minutes. I spoke first, “It looks like she’s not letting Ann out of that chair until she gets it right; she’s a teacher!” We listen some more. The kids began a silent giggle. Very unprofessionally, again, I began a silent laugh. We all sat holding our sides in hearty, but still silent, laughter. Finally I got up and edged toward the door to get a better view of what was going on. The class got up and peeked out the windows.
Again, Marie was the first to speak. “She deserves a prize!” she whispered loudly. I nodded my approval and began to look around for something to give Dawn, a reward for her perseverance and patience with Ann. “Let’s make her a card!” someone offered. The class all rushed over to the writing center and began folding paper and choosing favorite writing instruments. I sat and watched, just appreciating those bright, happy children, but hoping that the principal didn’t pass by
The children worked on their cards as the sound of the music lesson wafted through the open door. Some drew cute little pictures of two girls, sitting in chairs, each with their recorders; others concentrated on prose. Now the big question was, how were they to be presented? We decided to place them all in Dawn’s box on top of her table. Then, they’d look nonchalant while secretly peeking, to catch her surprise when she discovered the cards. We practiced that for a few minutes, still giggling silently.
We took our places, pretending to be working on our math problems. “Dawn,” I called to her, “I think that’s enough now. You’ve both done a really good job.” The girls peeked around through the doorway at the same time. “We heard you practicing, Ann, you’re doing much better!” They looked excited but relieved as they dragged their chairs back into the room. The rest of the students put on their casual airs. As soon as Dawn reached her desk, she spotted the cards. The class, unable to remain in their seats, rushed over to congratulate her on the great music lesson, and praise Ann for her progress.
I should say that the minute Dawn and Ann walked in the door I saw a distinct change on Ann’s face! Ann is a child who has had difficulty focusing for more than five seconds. I had made very little progress with her in the three months since school started. But now I saw a change in her.
The next day, I gave the class a lengthy reading comprehension test. As they set up their cardboard partitions, I passed out the test, three pages of solid reading, one for the story and two for questions. I had stopped giving these tests to Ann because she marked random responses without even trying and I had felt that she would be better off with free reading in the library for that time period. But this day, I put a test on her desk, without a word. When everyone was settled, I gave my usual directions and then stood in the middle of the room and watched as they read. I especially watched Ann, trying to look casual as I moved around to get different angles on her. She was reading. She never even looked up in the whole hour. Out of the 12 long questions she only missed four, which is especially good for a non-native speaker.
As I read back over this story, it sounds like it happened in a special private school somewhere. But it didn’t. It wasn’t. It is in the same little school in East Los Angeles. And Dawn? When I asked her later, “How old are you, anyway?” “Seven,” she replied, “but I’ll be eight next month.
But the story doesn’t end there. Dawn’s music lessons did a lot to change Jessie, too! Jessie was also a student who could barely pay attention, and did very little work. Now, he’s one of the first ones to finish. Not only that, but one Thursday while the five were out for their music lessons, I asked the remaining class who could play the new song, “Claire de Lune”? I gave them all a few minutes to practice it while I walked around to watch them teach and coach each other, and compliment their efforts. When I got to Jessie, who was standing and moving around vigorously as he played, I asked, “Who taught you?” “Nobody”, he paused for a moment, “I taught myself! See, I have the music right here.” And he went right back to playing.
I found a chair and sat down and thought. What if I hadn’t asked the music teacher to get us extra recorders? What if I’d insisted that we all work on our math problems instead of letting Dawn give music lessons? What if I hadn’t put that test down on Ann’s desk? And what else in the world might I be missing?
The story doesn’t even end here. Ann went on to be a very enthusiastic writer, fairly good at grammar and spelling. Her confidence was so great that by the last month of school she pranced around the room, armed with a highlighter, volunteering to proofread her classmates’ papers and doing a very good job, sweetly and persistently showing them, “Look, read this part again, it doesn’t make sense. Check this word right here; it doesn’t look right.”
Did I say that the story ended yet? There’s one more thing. By the end of the year, the students who practiced their music had taught their classmates all of the tunes. And me? I don't even know how to place my fingers on the instrument. I just let the five know that I expected them to teach the others everything the music teacher had taught them, and they all used a different method. One drew the notes and lines on the board, another held the music in front of her classmates and another sat beside his classmates, having them copy his finger movements. One girl used a pointer to show her students which notes to play. They also combined methods and switched methods if what they were doing wasn’t working.
I spent my whole time keeping a watchful eye on my students to make sure that one did not bother another or get off the subject. I'm remembering my opening paragraph on this page. One student, off the subject or doing anything annoying, can and will change the whole dynamics of the class, wrench control away from the teacher, and disrupt the lesson. Teaching is a fairly easy job but it takes an experienced, savvy adult to watch, and I mean, really watch. Watching is the hard part.
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