I just read an interesting article “Eight Words to Say to a Friend“! It’s about a young woman and her small daughter landing in Cambridge England, late at night, arriving at their college accommodation, utterly exhausted. Their friend, whom they were visiting, popped out of her apartment, hugged them, and asked:

What small thing would help you right now now?

She continues:

Not: Can I do something for you? 

Not: How can I help?

Not the terribly generic and unhelpful: Let me know if you need anything.(Anything???!)

But: “What small thing would help you right now?“

Something about the specificity, the smallness of it, was a revelation. 

These days, I’m often in the position of seeing someone needing support of some kind or other. I used to ask “Can I do something for you?” and been turned away, graciously, but my offer of help rejected, nevertheless.

I started asking, “What can I do for you?” A bit more specific, but not any more effective.

I learned as a teacher the question I needed to ask a struggling student was not “How can I help you?” but “What do you need help with?” Again, the focus is shifted from me to the learner. It worked with even the most recalcitrant kid (1).

“What small thing would help you right now?” is definitely a better question in a social situation – focused on my friend and not on me. I have to try it, the next time I’m able to offer assistance when I find a friend dealing with a stressful situation!

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(1) Another critical incident (2009; Newman, Judith “On Becoming A Better Teacher”).

One of the most difficult transitions I personally have had to make has been dealing with kids’ resistance, their ‘not-learning’ as Herb Kohl (1994) calls it. Just when I think I have some control over my responses I run into a kid who pushes me back into my instinctual, authoritarian way of responding. There’s one like that in one of the third grade classes I’ve been visiting.

In my experience when kids avoid engaging, offering some support brings about a small shift in attitude. Usually I can get a kid to ‘just try’. I’ve learned that helping kids to be successful overcomes a lot of their resistance. But I can’t even get near this one — Andrew, I’ll call him. He cuts me off by turning away from me before I can offer help of any kind. His body language is real clear — stay away!

Part of Andrew’s problem is that he doesn’t read or write very well. At age nine, that’s starting to be serious. He’s bright, so he knows what the others can do and he can’t. He behaves aggressively — pinching, hitting, or jabbing his classmates with a pencil. They don’t want anything to do with him. His behaviour keeps them from discovering his shortcomings, but at a cost — by isolating himself he is unable to build friendship.

I’m flummoxed. Andrew is showing quite clearly he won’t learn from me. And each time I attempt to engage him I seem to be digging the hole deeper. Andrew evokes the ‘witch’ in me. Although I understand his antagonism, I react to it in a way that doesn’t help him. I find myself wanting to force him to try.

I have no trouble engaging Jake, who drives the teacher crazy. He doesn’t make me bristle the way Andrew does. The question is what about the behaviour gets to me in Andrew’s case and not in Jake’s. What in my own history is being triggered by Andrew and not by Jake?

Maybe it’s the way Andrew rejects assistance. When he cuts me off I just walk away. I’ve learned there’s no point in attempting to cajole him and I have no authority to insist he do anything. But I’m not happy walking away. I keep wondering what I’m doing that evokes Andrew’s resistance and what I could do that would permit us to work out a different kind of relationship (JN. Journal: 11/7/1995).

Writing about the problem helped me see Andrew and I were engaged in a power/control struggle.

I was rereading Interwoven Conversations (Newman, 1991) the other day when I came across a critical incident about Danny — a six-year old who taught me to ask “Do you need help?” before barging in. I’m barging in with Andrew; he immediately raises his barriers, which in turn angers me because it leaves me nowhere to go. Hmm. So I guess I should at least be giving him some room to let me know how I can help him before we’re embroiled in his not-learning game. I can see I should ask if he needs help and accept it if he says ‘No.’ That gives him an out and me a way of leaving gracefully. I’ll try that tomorrow morning and see what happens (JN. Journal: Nov. 14, 1995).

The next day, when I asked Andrew if he needed help he considered my offer and then told me precisely what assistance he wanted when I followed up by asking ‘What do you need help with?’ That surprised me. In other words, I discovered that asking if he needed help made it possible for Andrew to retain control of the situation. It made it possible for him to engage in learning with me. My reflective writing helped me understand what was causing my struggle with Andrew and what I might do about it.

Bev, Andrew’s teacher, and I had a conversation one afternoon in which she described how she learned to accept his clear signals that he wouldn’t comply. As she wrote later

The issue of power and Andrew’s behaviour was a serious issue. I found myself challenged by the dilemma of how to give Andrew the power he needed without ‘caving in’ to his tyrannical behaviour. How could I get out of the power struggle that I didn’t want to be in and that Andrew continually created? One clue for me came when he told me one day that he didn’t want to go to music and if I forced him to go he would misbehave so that he would be sent out of the room. At that moment I knew he had it figured out — he was in control and he knew it. I had to learn ways of negotiating activities with him, allowing him acceptable choices. Instead of reacting in an authoritarian way I had to find ways of allowing him to choose to engage. Andrew has taught me that I can’t make anyone do anything he doesn’t want to; external power has limited impact; it’s internal power that makes a positive difference (BC. Journal: 4/21/1995).

Bev learned how to negotiate with Andrew. Her important insight was that Andrew was always in control and that she would never get anywhere trying to force him to do anything. Because she has become adept at reading his signals, he’s become much more involved and proficient at reading and writing and his behaviour is considerably less resistant. My coming to understand the dynamics of my interaction with Andrew allowed me to talk with Bev about his resistance and avoidance of learning. In turn, Bev and I were each able to restructure our relationship with Andrew.