How I Think About "Disruptive" Behavior

On Tuesday, I paraphrased John Dewey, writing, "Two children together can sustain behavior or a project that neither would maintain alone. And that behavior or project might well be mischief." And sometimes that mischief rises to the level that it impacts the rest of the community as disruptive, frightening, or even hazardous.

The example I used is of two or more children allied in this way, goading one another into shoving classmates then running off, while giggling. It could be snatching toys. It could be name calling. It could be pulling hair. Whatever the case, it leaves classmates feeling targeted, violated, and even in danger. 

When two or more children start feeding each other's behavior in this way, more often than not they are doing one of three things: 1) seeking intensity, 2) seeking collaboration, 3) testing the boundaries of the community, all of which represent healthy developmental impulses. Our job is to help them pursue those impulses in ways that work for everyone.

The standard way of dealing with this, however, is to punish the offenders. Punishment might stem the behavior in the moment, but ultimately what it teaches children is that those with power get to tell them what to do, obedience to authority, a fundamentally anti-democratic concept. Furthermore, research into the mechanics of punishment finds that it's really only effective as long as the punisher remains present, not ending the behavior, but rather pushing the behavior underground. The only time that punishment produces lasting behavioral change is when it is so debilitating that the child would never dare risk it again. I hope no one reading here thinks it's okay to inflict that kind of severe punishments on a child.

Keeping in mind that this kind of disruptive collaborative behavior is based in a developmentally healthy impulse, the more thoughtful among us seek alternatives. Often, our first instinct is to reason with the collaborators, pointing out the impact of their behaviors. "She's crying because you took that from her." "When you shove people it isn't safe. My job is to keep everyone safe, so I can't let you do that." This is sometimes useful. Some very young children are not clear about their impact on others, but when children are feeding off one another in this way, no matter how gently and matter-of-factly we speak with them, it will, at best come off as scolding that must be endured before getting back to their important game in which they are deeply connected with another human. That's why they often continue giggling together, frustrating our attempts to talk them into behaving in less disruptive ways.

Often the simplest intervention is re-direction. We might casually say something like "I need your help over here," or "Can you bring those blocks to the table?" The goal is to temporarily interrupt the feedback loop and channel their urge to seek intensity and collaboration into something more appropriate

"You two are on fire today. Wanna help me build a bike ramp?"

"Alright, so I see you guys want to wrestle. How about you help me lay down some gym mats and have a real match?"

I once set up a "throwing station" with targets and projectiles as a way to divert a couple of kids who were winging things all over the playground. When "dinosaurs" were stomping on the blocks with which other children were trying to play, I brought out a box of scrap bubble wrap.

The goal isn't to stop their energy, but rather to help them find a legitimate outlet.

When confronted with disruptive behaviors I find myself asking the question, What is it about the environment that invites this behavior? Maybe it's too little space for rough-and-tumble play, maybe there aren't enough loose parts, maybe kids are having to wait too long for their turn, maybe the furniture needs to be rearranged. Adding materials, redefining the play area, or opening a new activity can dissolve the problem.

In Tuesday's post I mentioned that sometimes the only way to get beyond a problem is through it. By that I mean, that instead of trying to control their play from the outside, I like to join them with an eye toward gently shifting it in more acceptable ways. There was once a pair of kids goading one another to throw sand randomly into the air, aggravating other children in the process. Instead of trying to make them stop, I joined them, saying, "I'll bet I can make my sand land in that bucket over there." We kept throwing sand, but now it was targeted. We eventually moved the game into an out-of-the-way corner because "the other kids keep getting in the way." 

The goal here is to subtly change the narrative without kiboshing the whole thing.

Of course, the most powerful tool is to rely on our democratic classroom. When we sit down at circle time, I'll start things off by saying, without pointing to any individuals, "People are throwing sand and it's getting in people's eyes. What should we do?" Children often propose solutions that adults would never consider. Indeed, the best ideas often come from the children who were throwing the sand in the first place. It's powerful because what emerges is a democratically arrived at "agreement" rather than an adult imposed rule.

Sometimes the discussion alone stems the behavior even if no agreement is reached. A girl named Francis once told us that she was "scared" of some boys who playing a game they called "bad guys." The fierceness of the game made her nervous, even though she admitted that they had never hurt her. A few other kids joined her in her concern, but the "bad guys" insisted they liked their game. Two days later, the mother of the lead baddie pulled me aside, "When I went to tuck him in last night, he told me he wasn't going to play 'bad guys' any more because Francis didn't like it." That day, and for the days going forward, they played "good guys," the same game, but this change satisfied Francis' fears.

Of course, often the best approach is the one that is the hardest for many of us, and that is that we must learn to accept a certain level of chaos. Sometimes that burst of chaotic play strikes  us as disruptive, or it's not yet disruptive, but we think that if left unchecked it will become disruptive so we step in "before things get out of hand." And maybe that's the right move, but it's vital to keep in mind that what they are doing -- seeking intensity, seeking collaboration, testing boundaries -- are healthy impulses. 

Before stepping in, I like to pause long enough to ask myself, Is anyone getting hurt? Is anything important being destroyed? Is this truly harmful or just loud and messy?

If the answer is no, you might still want to remain close to the action, but the best move might be to sit with your discomfort and let the play run its course, which is to say, let the children fully engage the social experiment they've begun.

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