Dispute Resolution

 

A couple of days ago I mentioned that Ryanne's eyes glaze over if I should start to talk about my life experiences. That got me to thinking about how easy it is to read children's minds just by watching their eyes.

The school that I volunteer at has a dispute resolution policy. Since the under eleven crowd is so new at the getting along with others thing, I have witnessed enough mediations to know the drill.

First, everyone who is involved in or adjacent to an event is pulled out in the hallway and stands in a circle. Then everybody gets to talk about what happened.

That talking circle gives me the heebie-geebies because I used to be stuck at politcal meetings where I was forced to listen to every wing-nut ramble on about their stupid opinion. Since I was an elected officer, I was expected to be courteous and patient, but of course I wasn't, and now I don't hold an elected position. It isn't that I'm rude about boring speeches... well, maybe I am.

Back to the children. After the teacher is done listening, she assigns the letter. Verbal apologies won't do. Everyone involved must write a letter of apology.

(Now if that was required in politics we would have anarchy.)

Last Wednesday, a substitute teacher was in charge of the fifth grade class so things were a lot more casual than usual. When I was getting one of my assigned students, I stumbled into the end of some event that had resulted in one boy demanding sympathy for a wound on his face which he claimed had been caused by scissors.

Well, it wasn't really a wound. It was more of a red mark where he had been rubbing the place where something which might or might not have been scissors had touched his face.

The other little boy was standing back with a shocked look on his face desperately pushing the case that it was an accident.

First, I asked the wounded child if he needed medical attention. No, apparently the scissors wound didn't require closer examination. Then I asked the second child to apologize, which he did. Then I asked the first child if he was okay now, and he said he was.

Here comes the mind reading part. You knew I would get here eventually.

I returned to the classroom several minutes later and the two boys were facing off about five feet apart. I stopped in my tracks and asked them if everything was all right.

Both froze as looks of desperation crossed their faces. They knew they were just one word away from a mediation. They looked each other in the eye as they assured me that everything was fine. I smiled and believed them.

Which I think made the world a better place.

Nancy Sherer

 

 


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