Dollar Days

A couple weeks ago at school, we (the Americans) heard something whispered on the wind about "dollars."

"The American currency?" we wondered. As is often the case at work, we were confused.

The next week I first saw one of these "leadership dollars," a little purple certificate redeemable on Friday for candy ("confite") and such goodies as that. 

Not knowing the true philosophy behind the initiative, I HATED the first week I gave them out. In both of my classes, there are 2-3 kids that are very mature, very smart, and always on task. I groaned inwardly, foreseeing months of the same kids getting the already infamous dollars over and over. In fact, in 2nd grade, the Spanish teacher and I tried to give the dollar to the same "perfect" kid. Great. Just great. Good thing she's tall and tough, or she'd be a perfect bullying candidate.

The second week, however, brought a revelation: this isn't about cumulative good behavior.

It's about SNEAK ATTACKS! Because no one expects the Spanish Inquisition (little Monty Python humor there, for ya). Or Grace. Or the Leadership Dollar.

To my understanding, the theory is this: There are kids who will never get rewards under normal systems because they either fail in the area of grades, or behavior, or general gold starness on a consistent basis. They try to sing, but they mumble. They try to dance, but they stumble. They try to sit still, but their brains are saying, "Get up and run around the room!"

So they do.

The Dollar Program is for them.

All they (and you) need is a moment. Catch them at that rare on-task moment, and praise them to the heights. Shout it from the rooftops. Hand over that coveted dollar and that class'll take note. Promise. Here's who got it this week:

Karla (2nd grade): smartish, but usually unengaged. Present, but not participative. Classic wallflower. Her smile, though, when she's plugged in? Killer. Like time-elapsed video of the sun rising out of the eastern sky. Today, she, unlike many of her classmates, obeyed my edict to cease coloring so we could move on to a new activity. Whereupon I swooped in. DOLLARIFIC!

The previous day's sneak attack, in 3rd grade, was even better. There's the adorable, jolly little guy named Sergio...

...who I can't stand. From the ingratiating looks in eyes, you'd think he was a suck-up, but his habitual stance of being off-task, which I have called him out on multiple times in embarrassing ways, strikes me as a quiet defiance. No Profe, you can't make me. At least, for awhile.

I sneak attacked that kid, all right. He unexpectedly chose to actually open his text upon being handed it Thursday, and sat there, ready. Maybe he'd just filled his drawing notebook and was without better diversion. I don't know. But I don't care. Me affirming Sergio will make the rest of 'em sit up and takes notes, you better believe it.

I like it. I like it a lot.