The Best Teaching Decision I Ever Made

Here’s the ending to the 3rd challenging scenario. You can return to this post for the principles and strategies of managing challenging behavior that this story illustrates.
Scene 3: A roomful of parents in a homeless shelter, slumped in their chairs avoiding eye contact with me, some resting heads on the table in front of them, some yawning, one especially spirited woman, arms folded across her chest, jaw set, shaking her head vigorously from side to side, her body language screaming, “You are so WRONG!” while I present *Maslow’s hierarchy of needs to an unbelievably unbelieving audience. (*Image source: Wikipedia)

It was one of the first classes I’d ever taught and a major, “Oh no,” moment. Face-saving solutions raced through my head like high-speed trains. I thought up a variety of panicky escape scenarios, most of them sounding something like, “Well, it is the first night of 10, the first hour of our 2 ½ hours. I could talk faster, GET through this and pretend it never happened.” Escape and feigned obliviousness, while appealing to my desire to soothe my self-image, did not appeal to my desire to not waste these good people's time.

So, aborting all escape strategies I faced the oncoming train and did something radical. I said...“You aren’t buying this are you?”

That brought all the half-mast eyes and sagging chins to attention. People sat up straight and looked at their neighbors to see if they’d really just heard me correctly. I could see the wheels turning… “Did she really say that or I am having a really great dream?”

Silence.

So I asked again. “You aren’t buying this. Can we talk about it?”

Electric nervousness shot through the room like a lightning bolt. The woman who had shaken her head at me with a deep frown creasing her brows, cleared her throat and said, “Actually, no we are NOT buying this!” I looked around the room, and slowly heads began to nod in agreement with her, nervously though, still unsure of how I might react.

“Ok,” I gently said, “What’s your truth? Would you teach me?”

The young woman got up out of her chair and approached the Maslow hierarchy poster at the front of the room and said, “I don’t believe that physiological needs make up the foundation of how we get through life,” she said, with finger tapping the bottom of the triangle. In a slow, but deliberate voice she said, “When you don’t know what you will feed your kids tonight, or where they will sleep safely, or if they will be warm enough, you stop thinking about how you will possibly make that happen on your own when you have no resources.”

As she spoke she trailed her finger to the top of the pyramid, delicately and tentatively touching the self-actualization triangle, and said, “You know that more important than your hunger or chill, or fear about having no where safe for your babies, you know that you will not lose your humanity to meet those needs, that surely there is a Higher Power, God, who is looking after you. You accept the facts of your situation, name your powerlessness in that moment, and appeal to God for His care because that’s all you have, when you are hungry, cold and scared.” There was a reverent hush in the room that was palpable.

And then I ripped Maslow’s Hierarchy off the wall crumpling it in my hands. Eyes widened and jaws dropped open, but no one was napping.

I handed her the marker, and gently asked, “Will you show me what life looks like for you?”
She redrew the triangle with self-actualization and its creative problem solving, morality, lack of prejudice, acceptance of facts, spontaneity, and creativity as the foundation where physiological needs used to be, then drew in the rest of the pyramid, according to Maslow. Glistening eyes and flushed faces watched her, heads nodding slowly in agreement.

“Well then,” I said, then this is the pyramid of needs from which this class will work.”

Being wrong and then admitting it was the best teaching decision I’ve ever made.