When my daughter was very young and we watched Barney for the first time, I was driven to distraction by the characters' constant movement. Barney, the children, and the adults were always bouncing from one leg to the other in the magical playground full of color and movement, movement, movement. It drove me mad. I can count on one hand the number of times we watched Barney.

That's not to say we didn't watch TV, though. After lunch, we would be faithful visitors to Mr. Roger's neighborhood, where that calm and kindly gentleman invited us into his home and included us in the ordinary pace of his day. He took his time with everyone and found pleasure in ordinary people and the nature of their lives and work. It was easy to be there. In fact, I still remember the places he took us and the interesting people to whom he introduced us.

I thought of this contrast when I heard the advice from a colleague at the college where I used to teach. He helped kids with learning disabilities navigate the public university system. He said, "Kids are used to constant movement; you've got to be entertaining and fast-paced when you teach or you're out." This can't be, I thought.

I have recalled his words when I am teaching. Whether I am passing out papers and pencils, teaching, or taking attendance, I am on because my students are looking to me for constant activity. When I ask kids to work independently, there are those who manage to race through the task and shout to the world, "I'm done!" in a matter of seconds. They want something else to do for the minute or two others need to complete the same task. They want a game, a puzzle, a coloring page--something ro fill the empty 90 seconds.

In response, I hear myself saying,"Relax," more than anything else these days. Rather than provide something for them to do--and they expect that I will--I tell them to breathe for a minute or two. This is a new idea for many children. Stop bouncing around. Still yourself. It seems to me that's a lesson, too.

For kids who won't settle and won't follow directions or who desire trouble--and there are many in my classes full of smart but poorly performing academic underachievers--I find myself calling their parents day and night to ask for their help in teaching their kids to value their education and to respect themselves, their peers, and their teacher by working in class and listening quietly. It's a hard task. It is a task that wearies me as I make those calls from my living room at the end of a work day.

Tired of being weary, I decided to make a different kind of call this week. I called the parents of kids whose bad behavior had turned around significantly and told them their kids were doing a lot better. I called the parents of a few kids who are always good and told them their kids are always good. Next time I had those kids in class, they worked like dogs from one end of the period to the other. It was a beautiful thing. More often when I said, "relax," the kids did. So many of the other kids--the chronic malcontents--wanted me to call and say something good about them. So they too are learning to calm down. They are finding a little bit of quiet is far more worthwhile than a whole lot of fight. It's a way to feeling good and being good. It's a lot nicer in my neighborood, and it's nice to be there. That's a blessing.

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