There is No Magic Lecture

Illustration by Beatrix, Age 6

No Magic Lecture is a phrase I learned over a long, often painful period as a developing teacher, but it’s not just an axiom for educators - it’s about finding perspective in the challenges of an expansive world. It is short for “There is no magic lecture that will fix this forever.” These words have echoed in my mind over countless bad days and hard moments, unruly circle times, tantrums, shoe losses, and no shortage of classroom failures. It is, for lack of a less appropriative term, a mantra I am still fiddling with. It soothes, taunts, cajoles, and saves me when I have lost my perspective, either as a teacher or an adult who lives alongside young children.

NML is also short for “There is no magic lecture that will fix this for right now.” This is one of the essential tenets I tell student-teachers when they enter my classroom for the first time. That, and, “No matter what, we are always going to do things The Hard Way.” (More on The Hard Way later). It is critical to me as a mentor of novice teachers that the first and foremost thing they do in the classroom -- before learning the children’s names, reading a story, demonstrating correct pincer grasp, or declaring their belief that to play is to learn -- is to understand that they are not and never will be the harbingers of ultimate knowledge and control. No one is. Thus, no matter what happens or how beautifully you’ve prepared a speech about kindness, the power of literacy, or why germs make us sick sopleasestopsuckingyourfingers, there is no one perfect thing you can say that will change someone’s behavior once and for all. This understanding can free us up to really see children for who they are, developmentally and as individuals. Healthier partnerships arise from knowing we are not responsible for everything the children think and feel at all times. Instead, we are responsible for modeling how to think critically, move through discomfort, and live constructively in the world.

So when do I most employ this mantra? I use it whenever I need to inoculate myself against my own preconceived expectations. Classroom meetings, also known as “circle time,” can really get to me. It’s a place where I find myself expecting one single outcome: a calm yet stimulating conversation between teachers and peers. This is a fine thing to hope for. To continually expect this from a group or preschool children? Foolish. When I lead the meeting with an agenda (not the same as a plan - a plan is what I will do, an agenda is how I want other people to think and feel about it) and things don’t go as I hope, I feel the frustration course through my body. I feel flushed, hurried, and uncomfortable. This feeling is often confused with frustration but is actually shame. I worry that if another adult were to see me, they’d think I am not in control. That I am not competent. That I am a failure. Emphasis here is on the reaction of other adults. I feel the urge to berate the group with some version of “You know better. How could you? Do it like this.” That’s the signal for when I repeat to myself, “There is no magic lecture that will make this what I thought it would be.” Those words put distance between my base reaction and the reality at hand. Often, though not always, letting go of that internal pressure makes a space for something new. I relax, I become more flexible, and I am more able to listen, and meet the children where they actually are. They don’t live in my head, and I don’t have to stay stuck in there, either. What a relief.

In a wider sense, I think we can all relate to the epic fails that await us when we presume we have the intellectual or emotional key to some challenge we perceive in someone else. Likewise when believe we could solve XYZ problem if we could get the words out so that our flawed compatriots would listen.

I used to think my friend would dump her condescending boyfriend if I just told her, once more for clarity, about the worth I saw in her. Failed.

I used to think that a three-year-old would stop biting classmates forever if I said, “Biting hurts. It’s not okay!” in just the right tone of anxious gravitas. Do you see the flaws in this thinking?

Each of these interventions was spun from the conviction that I, either as Micah Freaking Card or Grown Adult Human, know best to the point that others should unequivocally listen to me. A glaring error in my thinking that actually invalidates the premise of my grand advocacy.

And if I am honest, all that wisdom-sharing was rooted in what suited me: to be the hero of my best friend's story and to never have to answer to the angry parents of a biting or bitten child again. While the impulse to solve problems and be an asset to those around me is good, the framework of my intervention is faulty because it is too small. It’s centered solely around my perspective. That narrow view chokes relationships with others, denies the context of who they are and why they are doing this thing, and the effect is often the exact opposite of what we hope for — behavior that looks and feels like defiance but is really just the uncomfortable shifting-around of people trying to be themselves while pleasing, or not pleasing, you.

While we can generally agree that adults do not take kindly to being lectured, we do this to children all the time. We expect their tacit agreement because most of us were taught that adults not only have natural authority, but are the authority on living, learning, and being in the world. That’s a setup for everyone to fail. Not maintaining control and power becomes a sign of weakness. So, in order to meet this foolhardy, if not cruel, expectation, what do most people do? Double down. Get tough, frustrated, and cynical about those around them. For parents and teachers, this mutual failure to meet expectations damages the relationships we most want to nurture. “Kids these days” is an easy trap to fall into when we reenact this cycle. It is not a solution.

The answer is consistency — Holding a positive, realistic set of beliefs about children and striving to act on those beliefs every day, every minute, every time you make a decision. To be sure, that is a tall order, a difficult task when viewed on the scale of a life, but manageable when we see it as just a million little micro-moments stacked up to make something bigger and healthier out of the time we spend together. That’s the real makeup of an education. That’s a life. But just for this moment, let’s take a breath and remember: There is no magic lecture.