Stop complimenting students
This piece by Lisa Bloom, entitled How to Talk to Little Girls, appealed a great deal to me.
This paragraph represents the crux of Bloom's argument:
Teaching girls that their appearance is the first thing you notice tells them that looks are more important than anything. It sets them up for dieting at age 5 and foundation at age 11 and boob jobs at 17 and Botox at 23. As our cultural imperative for girls to be hot 24/7 has become the new normal, American women have become increasingly unhappy. What's missing? A life of meaning, a life of ideas and reading books and being valued for our thoughts and accomplishments.
I have made it my policy for the last decade to avoid commenting on a student's physical appearance for similar reasons.
A student's appearance should be the last thing of concern to a teacher, but more importantly, these comments, even when positive, can be damaging and hurtful to kids.
A few years ago, just prior to a performance by my school's choir, I watched a teacher compliment a young man on his appearance. The boy was wearing an impeccable suit and tie, and even his dress shoes gleamed in the dull glow of the hallway's fluorescent lighting.
The teacher was aware of my no commenting policy, and after complimenting the young man, she challenged me by asking how her few words of kindness could ever be hurtful to a kid.
I pointed out to the teacher that while the young man was probably feeling great about the compliment he had received, the boy to his left and the boy to his right, who were not wearing suits and had not received a similar compliment, and who were perhaps from families who could not afford suits and ties and gleaming dress shoes for their boys, may be feeling very differently.
Therein lies the danger.
As one who grew up in relative poverty, I know how it feels to hear your classmates and friends receive compliments for their appearance while you do not.
Worse, I know how it feels to receive the makeup compliment from a teacher who realizes that he or she has probably made you feel lousy while gushing over the appearance of your best friend.
There are simply too many other things about which a teacher can and should compliment a student for any educator to be discussing physical appearance. Effort, sportsmanship, empathy, helpfulness, respect, and charity are just some of the areas in which teachers can offer meaningful, productive comments.
Not to mention that a student's choice of clothing and haircut, especially in elementary school, are often not entirely within their control. Oftentimes a teacher's compliment amounts to little more than a comment on how the student's parent chose to send their child to school, making the words even more meaningless.
So ten years ago, I decided to stop commenting on students' physical appearance, and I have held the line ever since.
It hasn't been easy.
A girl walks into my class with a new haircut and asks what I think.
I say, "I don't know about your hair, but I love the way you use that brain underneath the hair to solve math problems."
A boy walks into class with new jersey promoting his favorite basketball team and asks me if I like it.
"I didn't really notice the jersey," I say. "But I noticed the way you played kickball yesterday. Great job."
Sometimes these exchanges are a little awkward, and sometimes the kids think I'm a little crazy, but I would prefer both of these to the alternative.
I have been told by more than one educator that my policy is unrealistic and unnecessary. Their arguments are usually bolstered by simpleton statements like, "My teachers complimented me when I was a kid and we survived" and "These kids are going to hear compliments for the rest of their lives, so there's no reason for us to be sheltering them now."
These types of arguments boil down to this:
If it worked for me, it should work for them.
These are people who did not wear the same sneakers through three New England winters while in middle school.
There are people who did not receive the majority of their childhood wardrobe from their much older cousin.
These are people who are unable to place themselves in the shoes of a student whose shoes will never gleam in the dull, florescent light.
These are people who do not believe that a single person can make a difference.
