As a kid, I was always in trouble for sticking my tongue out at my sisters. Later, as I grew older I shifted this gesture from an insult to a sign of affection. I've learned that in a tense situation, it can be as good as a wink. It's a silly sign that "we're okay."
When my students get fussy, I put on my big tough, mean teacher face, tell them we don't act like that, with my hands firmly planted on my hips, and then promptly stick my tongue out at them. Almost every time, the angry child will have to bite his lip to keep from busting up laughing. He then sits down and gets to work, and I walk away to put out a different fire.
The other day I had a particularly difficult day at work. I was drowning in the tested standards that I knew my kids didn't know yet. In the middle of my third lesson for one class period, the district maintenance guy showed up to fix my classroom door, which included drilling and loud, loud banging. By the time the next class arrived, I felt like my head was going to explode. Instead, my temper did. I raised my voice louder than I ever would on a normal day. Just when I was about to completely lose it, one of my beautiful babies (who is often the recipient of my unorthodox classroom management) looked at me, grinned, and stuck out his tongue.
Today, Chris walked into my classroom with his fashionable brown hoodie on. Hoodies of any color are strictly prohibited in school. I reminded him, thanked him and walked away. He took the hoodie off and settled in to get to work. However, when I had him join a table for a group assignment, the hoodie was quickly back on. I walked by twice, reminding him and thanking him, but this time it just didn't work. I have a fairly strict classroom policy of not embarrassing a student, so I took him to the hallway. I asked him if he knew why he couldn't wear the hoodie. He shrugged and said no. He said he didn't think it was a rule. We go over the agenda/dress code with the students every year, but I patiently showed him the rule in the agenda again. He responded with, "I'm not taking it off." A quiet declaration of war. I responded with two choices, go in my room with the hoodie off or to the office with the hoodie on. He couldn't choose. I told him if I had to choose, I would have him back in class without the hoodie, but that I knew I couldn't make him take it off. I asked him if there was some reason he didn't want to be in class today. "Yes. You're always making me do stuff!" "Like your class work?" I clarified. "Yeah, that."
At this point, I realized I was losing, and I told him we'd better head to the office. On our way down the hall, he kicked a pen cap across the hall. I smiled and said, "What'd that pen cap do to you? It didn't kick you out and make you go to the office just because you want to wear a hoodie." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him smile. I knew I hadn't lost yet. It was clear he didn't really want to leave class. When we got to the office, I had him take a seat. I turned to him and said, "You know...if you were to change your mind later, you're welcome to leave the hoodie in your locker and come back to class. We'd love to have you back." I quickly informed the principal of our arrangement and headed back to class.
About fifteen minutes later, Chris walked back into class, without his hoodie. He immediately took his seat. I handed him his vocabulary assignment with a "Welcome back. We missed you." A few minutes later, I needed to take a small reading group to the library for an intervention. Chris had already gone with me yesterday, but he insisted on going with me again today. When we got to the library, he sat silently on the couch, just listening. At one point the group was busy working, I turned my head to check on Chris, caught his eye and stuck my tongue out. I was rewarded with a smile so big his dimple showed. I declare victory!
