Continued from "Keep It Up: An Anti-List for 2009, part 1."

The end of the calendar year always encourages reflection, particularly in regards to what one wishes to change or improve.  "I resolve to quit smoking," or "I resolve to lose weight" are common goals -- but how often do you hear "I resolve to make life more difficult for the children in my community?"  My latest charge as an after school program site director has been the most challenging, yet the most rewarding responsibility I've ever had, and while the transition definitely defined 2008 as one of the most exciting years of my professional life, I aim to make 2009 the year of change everyone claims it's supposed to be. 

A quick recap: When this school year began in August, I volunteered to fill the vacancy of director at our organization's most challenging site, an after school program facility in a public park.  My previous site had been on the school campus as opposed to adjacent from it, relatively protected from outside elements by the sanctity of the campus, and this new (well, new to me) site was as vulnerable as they come, in a part of town known for gang activity, in a newly developed park attractive to playground-seeking soccer moms and slumbering homeless alike, in conjunction with a demanding school district and its understandably strict grant requirements.  Staff turnover was abundant, and in its eight years the site had seen as many directors come and go.  Who would want to work in a place with such a sullied reputation, with such a high potential for scrutiny and failure?

Four months later, am I kicking myself for being the answer to that hard question?  Quite the opposite.  In my opinion, the greater the challenge means the more fulfilling the smallest of accomplishments, the more reward in even the tiniest of baby steps toward what some would call "normalcy" for an after school program.  I had a plan going into this program, a three-pronged strategy that has already revealed signs of success.  The prongs of plan actually perpetually run concurrently, not in succession but alongside themselves, creating an air of change truly challenging for kids but ultimately friendly to families' needs as a whole.  These are also my new year's resolutions, to continue what I've begun and strive toward the foundation of consistency this site really need:

1.  Establish who rules the program.  Every classroom and child care facility has at least one thing in common: a list of rules, specifically the things children cannot do there.  "No fighting" and "no swearing" are common classroom/child care rules.  I developed a philosophy about this necessary list a long time ago, namely that children should not be told what they can't do but rather should be empowered by what they can do.  "Don't run" can easily be just as effectively communicated with "always walk."  When you eradicate the word "no" from your list of rules, you're one step closer to getting rid of the behavior of no in your children.

Further, child development professionals often differ on the content of established rules, how long the list should be, etc.  Some believe that ambiguity offers wiggle room for unexpected behaviors, while others target specific behaviors as unacceptable, i.e. bullying.  I had a professor once explain that she only had two rules in her second grade classroom: (1.) We are here to learn, and (2.) We are here to help others learn.  She dubbed this very comprehensive; for example, a student talking or passing notes is actually distracting himself from learning, thus breaking rule one.  A student bullying kids on the playground created fear at school, effectively breaking rule two.  She had reserved plenty of wiggle room to attack all negative behaviors.

Over the years I've developed a strategy that combines both schools of thoughts, creating a short, specifically ambiguous list students can follow.  What's "specifically ambiguous" mean?  My rules list targets a desired behavior through reinforcing positive behavior, so, aside from a few other aspects necessary for our program like "sign in" and "bring your membership card," I basically insist on these two standards: "Respect the program, its staff, and its equipment," and, "Respect each other."  Thus, a child running inside runs the risk of knocking something over, disrespecting the program's equipment, and a child playing pool unfairly disrespects his opponent, etc.  Using the word "respect" implies a responsibility for one's actions, a conscience effort to act wisely.  Of course, my last rule is always "have fun," asserting that fun is as important as the safety derived from the other rules.  After all, an involved child is one too occupied to find his own trouble.

Finally, the process through which these rules are established and displayed is just as important as their implementation.  In recent years, I don't actually call this list "the rules" anymore, but rather have titled them, "Who RULES the Program?"  The point is convincing the kids that they can enforce these procedures as much as, if not more than, the staff, since they're usually right there when a rule is broken anyway.  "Hey, don't argue!  That's disrespectful!"  Okay, a kid might not say it like that, but the feeling of empowerment goes a long way on the peer-to-peer level.  Also, I allow the kids in an assembly format to tell me what the rules should be, and I mold their suggestions into my mentally pre-established list.  For instance, a kid might offer, "Keep your hands and feet to yourself," since that rule is an old classroom standard.  I usually thoughtfully reply, "But what if we're playing two-hand touch football?  Why don't we just put 'respect each other,' for times when we shouldn't touch someone."  Sure, that's my rule, but the child's thought is acknowledged, and he can always think he came up with it first.  He rules! 

This short list is transferred from the white board from my assembly to a colorful poster board -- preferably with a cartoon on it, so kids like seeing it, so it blends into the already colorful decor.  If these rules should be a natural part of the children's behavior, the rules poster should be a natural part of the building, neither bland or more flamboyant than the other posters, on par with the image of, say, Michael Jordan making a slam dunk.  The message is that playing sports is right next to playing fairly -- visually, literally.

2.  Meet the child's comprehensive needs.  The most common misconception about my job is that I'm a babysitter.  I haven't "babysat" since I was a teenager, but from I can remember a babysitter comes to your house and watches children play with their own toys, watch their own videos, etc., essentially making sure the children don't kill themselves in the process.  A quality after school program does the exact opposite -- no, we aren't letting kids kill themselves.  The contrast is in the kids coming to us, to our facility, where we have resources families don't have at home.  A pool table, or computers, or crayons, and stuff like that are the first resources that come to mind, but assuming parents are at work after school, the most important resource they appreciate is a staff of responsible adults that can provide the supervision a working mother or father can't from three to six o'clock.  In turn, the staff's passion and ingenuity in cooperation with the program and its facility trump the typical bubble gum-smacking, telephone-hogging babysitter any day.

As my site's eighth director in eight years, you can imagine the skepticism I've faced from the oldest kids and their families -- doubts about my dedication and durability.  I realized from the very beginning that firmness and distance would be key in my efforts to make a comprehensive first impression: firmness in discipline, and distance to establish my position as the leader first.  When we interview staff applicants, we always ask, "Is it more important for you to be liked or respected by the kids, and why?"  Of course, the right answer is a little of both, but a great applicant will note that respect should precede friendship, lest children feel that they have the right to take advantage of you.  "Don't run inside?  Aw, that staff doesn't care -- he's my buddy!" 

Especially in the first few weeks, I put my foot down just as firmly for running in our gamesroom as I did name-calling or bullying, presumably more detrimental behavior, and I didn't hesitate to follow threats of time-out or suspension with statements like, "Start making better choices, kid, because I'm going to be here awhile."  Sure, I came across as a meany, but the proud proclamation was meant to plant seeds of stability.  I wanted kids, especially the most challenging ones, to think, "What if he is here for awhile?  I won't get away with anything again!"   Surely this is a thought they hadn't much considered in the context of high staff turnover.  Interestingly, I had similar conversations with parents, and I could tell that adults had the same reaction!

Further, a language barrier separates me from many of the families, so I've had to depend on my staff to communicate these harsh messages for me.  I made it very clear to them from the beginning that their interpretations shouldn't be in the third person, i.e., "Russ says your child's behavior is unacceptable," because I sound like the enemy.  Discipline, specifically expectations of positive behavior, should be a cooperative effort -- the singular goal any diverse group of youth development professionals shares.  Many parents feel overwhelmed by their child's behavior, and in my experience I've received more thanks for pushing kids toward positive behavior than criticism -- when they understand my intentions.  It is a power trip, but not mine; families should feel empowered by what the after school program has to offer, that their decision to trust us with their children is the right one.

Yet discipline is only one-part of meeting the family's needs.  While I'm putting my foot down, I'm putting a hand out, asking parents what they need and utilizing my organization's resources to help.  Tutoring is the most common need; every parent wants his child to get good grades.  After snack, our homework program is the first thing our members do; the hope is that the sanctity of the classroom still lingers in their minds and that they'll sit quietly for an hour or so despite the pool table or board games just at their fingertips.  It's also indicative of our priorities: homework first.  School first.  My first year as a director, I decided to give the children thirty minutes to "unwind" after school before homework time.  Reeling them in physically and mentally after that taste of recreation was the hardest part of the day, and by then some kids had already been picked up and missed out on the help our tutors offer.  Business before pleasure applies to all stages in life.

Still, many youth organizations specialize in tutoring.  Food for Thanksgiving, toys for Christmas . . . when you work for a nationally recognized youth-oriented non-profit organization, even in the midst of a troubled economy, donations come in regularly around the holidays.  (If only everyone realized that these families are needy the other ten months of the year, too, but I digress.)  Parents certainly titled heads in confusion when the same guy that suspended their son for two days for running inside asked what that boy might want for Christmas, but that was also the moment it clicked.  See, someone out to make a kid's day a living hell wouldn't ask about Christmas, but conversely the intention of help retrospectively explains that firm assertion of authority.  "He's really trying to make things better!"

The next time I suspend that kid, his parents will slap him upside the head.  "Why are you disrespecting the nice man?  He gave you Christmas!"  Speaking of which . . .

3.  Establish and maintain tradition.  My organization takes pride in providing a facility for children to attend and ultimately call a second home.  As after school programs have become more prevalent, thanks to political trends like No Child Left Behind, ASPs have utilized classroom space, which actually ironically creates a greater rift between the school day and the program for a few simple reasons. (Calling NCLB a "trend" is a topic in itself, but, in short, I guarantee that as funding depletes so does the critical attention 3 p.m. to 6 p.m. really deserves.)  First of all, while the point of the program is to give children a safe place to hang out after school, how many kids want to leave school only to return to school?  It creates a philosophical disconnection that encourages student truancy and drop-out from the program. 

Additionally, teachers are notoriously possessive, and rightly so since many things in their classrooms are purchased out of pocket or subject to a limited budget.  So, while having an entire classroom at your disposal might seem like an invaluable resource, most likely teachers demand that the children don't touch anything.  Pencils, books, even board games . . . at arm's reach, but ultimately unavailable.  Try explaining to a student why using the pencil sharpener was okay at 2:59, but not at 3:01!

Fortunately, I don't have to worry about these things, since I have a little facility!  Still, having the building is only half of the battle.  What are you going to do with those four walls?  What will happen there that makes the kids want to come back every day?  In addition to our daily activities, considering the high staff and supervisor turnover, I decided to implement special events and activities that would instill in our families a sense of tradition -- indeed, the spirit of a second home.

Special events don't need a reason to be special, but I like to tie evening activities to the calendar somehow and create the illusion that we're fulfilling parents' needs.  For instance, my staff and I host "Parents Nights Out" from 6 p.m. to 10 p.m. on various Fridays throughout the year.  While we would definitely get a good turnout if we hosted PNOs once a month, the most successful ones have always been around Christmas, Valentine's Day, and Mother's Day.  The idea that we're giving parents a fun, safe place to leave their children while they shop or go on a date meets a need and offers something special to their children all at the same time.

Also, as I mentioned earlier, the holidays demand extra attention since they often expose families' greatest needs in contrast to society's expectations of good cheer and gift giving.  In this vein, my organization offers haunted houses at Halloween, a free community-wide Thanksgiving dinner, and last year several toy giveaways -- all under the pretense that we'd like our families to spend the holidays with us.  We emphasize our need for attendance and participation rather than any families' presumed need for food or toys; avoiding insult always opens hardened hearts to charity!

Now, in the past four months, I've facilitated a few site-specific activities like this to see how our corner of the community would take to evening events or such charity.  When I made the transition to the new site, I told my boss that I'd commit three years; in my estimation, that gives me one year to implement what I know from my previous site, one year to adapt to the new demographic, then one year to assure families that what they've seen before is now set in stone, improved for them. 

Of course, I'm not limiting myself to the three years, but if I do move on then, my successor will have momentum on his side, something I couldn't find in the files of the fellows that came before me.  My message to them would be the same treatise I've been telling myself for the new year.  Don't downplay the importance of discipline, stability, and tradition.  Keep it up.

‪Questioning, doubt, and dissent are discouraged or even punished.

Mind-altering practices (such as meditation, chanting, speaking in tongues, denunciation sessions, and debilitating work routines) are used in excess and serve to suppress doubts about the group and its leader(s).

The leadership dictates, sometimes in great detail, how members should think, act, and feel (for example, members must get permission to date, change jobs, marry—or leaders prescribe what types of clothes to wear, where to live, whether or not to have children, how to discipline children, and so forth).

‪The group is elitist, claiming a special, exalted status for itself, its leader(s) and members (for example, the leader is considered the Messiah, a special being, an avatar—or the group and/or the leader is on a special mission to save humanity).

The group has a polarized us-versus-them mentality, which may cause conflict with the wider society.

The leader is not accountable to any authorities (unlike, for example, teachers, military commanders or ministers, priests, monks, and rabbis of mainstream religious denominations).

The group teaches or implies that its supposedly exalted ends justify whatever means it deems necessary. This may result in members' participating in behaviors or activities they would have considered reprehensible or unethical before joining the group (for example, lying to family or friends, or collecting money for bogus charities).

The leadership induces feelings of shame and/or guilt in order to influence and/or control members. Often, this is done through peer pressure and subtle forms of persuasion.

Subservience to the leader or group requires members to cut ties with family and friends, and radically alter the personal goals and activities they had before joining the group.

The group is preoccupied with bringing in new members.

The group is preoccupied with making money.

Members are expected to devote inordinate amounts of time to the group and group-related activities.

Members are encouraged or required to live and/or socialize only with other group members.

The most loyal members (the “true believers”) feel there can be no life outside the context of the group. They believe there is no other way to be, and often fear reprisals to themselves or others if they leave (or even consider leaving) the group.

Since when:

First Day of School = New Pair of Shoes?

Or did I just have bad parents?

Children are fluid creatures.  They come, they grow, they go, usually sooner than even they would like.  My program serves children up to twelve years old, or from first through sixth grade.  Other, more age-appropriate programs exist for junior high students.  Yet, every now and then, a window of opportunity opens for some of our "alumni" to return for a time.  Summer is such an opportunity.

A few weeks ago, an eighth grader that had attended our program for years returned for the summer, and her father was very happy we'd have her.  A day or two into her return, he commented, "You know, I was pulled up in the parking lot, and I realized I miss the old days."  The next morning, when his daughter was laughing and playing with her reacquainted friends, I realized I did, too.

I'm too young to feel like a father whose children are coming home, but when we get these glimpses into the past, when these children shed a few years to remember us and what we offer them, I can't help it.  When you watch a child grow for so many years, you're family.  That's what Dad said without saying it.  That's what I feel without helping it.  The true measure of a good program like ours isn't if they come, but if they come back.

How do you tell a parent, "I'm sorry, we can't find your child"?

How do you tell a parent, "I'm sorry, we can't find your special needs child"?

Very carefully.  And with earplugs, and a bulletproof vest, if available.

Two things about after school programs: First, many of them enforce an "open door policy."  From what I understand from my six years of experience in this field, with this organization, the open door policy is what seperates a non-profit after school program from a licensed daycare facility.  The open door policy permits youth the ability to "come and go" from the program at their discretion.  Sometimes, parents don't like this policy, so I suggest that they establish a "household rule" dictating that their child cannot leave the program without their permission, and, regardless of our policy, we will help them enforce their rule.  Usually works.  Other times, parents overlook or deliberately ignore this policy, despite its bold presence on our membership applications.  Their permissive parenting grants their child an all-access pass in the community, and our program becomes "base" for drop-off and pick-up purposes only.  We don't like this, but it's our rule.  It helps as much as it hurts.

Like last night.  Second, the after school program is not for everyone.  Some children, like kids with special needs, need more structure than the fluid recreational environment we offer.  Yet, despite our inexpensive rates, for the struggling families with special needs youth, we're their only option.  These parents assume that our "all are welcome" attitude implies individualized standards for all, but with hundreds of kids in our care daily, such attention is just not possible.  As much as we'd like to serve everyone, we can't; it may be a weakness, but it's more importantly an inevitable fact.  When the attendant at McDonald's asks, "How can I serve you?" you cannot ask for a taco and expect results just because they offered to help you.  They have beef, lettuce, and tomatoes, but they can't make a complete taco.  Other establishments specialize in that sort of thing.  Other programs specialize in children with special needs.

Now put these things together, and we're back where we started.  How do you tell a parent, "I'm sorry, we can't find your special needs child"?  How do you defend his disappearance by reminding the parent that she agreed to our open door policy when she signed up her child for our program . . . without sounding like an asshole?  We warned her, we cannot give your child the attention he needs and deserves.  We'd like to, but we can't.  If the parent doesn't heed these warnings and, to recall my analogy, insists for a taco, who's really to blame when she gets wrapper full of meat?  We tried.  We failed.  You're right to be upset, but . . . we told you so.

Still, with all the policies and paperwork, after school programs are a people-oriented business.  You have to be a human being to work so closely with them -- for them.  Of course, we found the child, but in my post-anxiety assessment of the situation, I don't know if I have beef with the mother, or with my organization.  She was so quick to blame us for her son's disappearance.  Our response: blame her.  As easy as it is, it's hard.

What are your most memorable moments from childhood?  What made them so memorable?

With the end of the school year mere days away, I've been wondering about this.  Our sixth graders will soon be junior highers.  The change in status is only three months -- one summer -- apart, but the newfound mentality of a junior higher couldn't be more different than that of a lowly elementary school student.  It's "child" versus "young adult," or at best, "tween."  In three months, some of the kids that hero-worship my staff and me may laugh at us for playing with "little kids" all day.  I've seen it happen.  So, while they're still "little kids," what can I do to secure that their memories of my program are happy ones?  How do you create a childhood experience worth remembering all the way to adulthood?

First of all, I think sincere intent is key.  I wonder if the adults from my youth -- the teachers, coaches, mentors -- strategized our activities together so that I would remember them as fondly as I do.  They probably didn't micro-manage every detail, but I'm certain they were determined to express their compassion for me through new and/or unique experiences.  If one were to take an autopsy of a childhood memory, those words, a makeshift mission statement, would define its heart.  So what earmarks a "new and/or unique experience?"

Well, "new" is, ironically, one of the oldest words around.  A new experience is one never before experienced, and for the modern child, many staples from my generation's youth would be definitely be new, for many reasons.  In some cases (I don't believe I'm going to say this), things aren't as cheap as they used to be.  When my dad took me to see the Mets vs. the Astros back in '86, I doubt that a soft drink cost as much then as it does now.  Single parent familes (which speaks to the late 20th century family dynamic, another change in the youth development environment) can't afford the means to a meaningful memory anymore. 

That's where the inexpensive after school program comes in.

When my Athletic Coordinator wanted to take his faithful "peer group" to a baseball game, he could've settled for a trip to Angels Stadium, mere miles away from our facility.  Yet, knowing that many of our kids may have already experienced an Angels game with their families (they can practically see the fireworks from their bedroom windows), he opted for the more revered Dodgers game, on Cinco de Mayo, no less.  Baseball game in Los Angeles + Cinco de Mayo fireworks show = instant memory.  I'm confident those kids will remember that for the rest of their lives.  That was the plan.

Tomorrow, as a part of our month-long celebration of the school year's end, we're hosting a "Wet Wednesday."  Water balloon toss, Slip 'n Slide Relay, all that.  This morning, one of the kids eagerly asked me if the event was still on, pending cloudy weather.  He told me, "I've never been on a Slip 'n Slide before.  It squirts water at you, right?  You get to run and jump through it, right?"  He'll forever remember the first time he experienced a Slip 'n Slide, because a few caring adults made it possible.  That's new, to him, anyway.

But unique?  That's a little bit more difficult.  In our line of work, where our customers have an attention span as long as an MTV music video (a tired but true cliche), putting a spin on the usual can make for an unique, thus memorable experience.  Sure, the kids love to paint and we can do that with them every day, but why not ask a local coffeehouse to exhibit the work?  Why not invite the kids' families to the gallery for an evening of inexpensive fellowship and artistic reflection?  Done.  Definitely a niche event, exclusively for the kids with some artistic chops and the drive to show it off, but still one that encourages and inspires.  "When I was eight-years-old, my artwork was already hanging in coffeeshops."  Hell, I'd still remember that.

I could go on, but this isn't a lesson in program basics.  It's my thoughts finding foundation.  It's me already missing the kids that will say "laters" in just a few days.  It's me hoping to see them a few years down the road, past the "too cool for school" attitude that every adolescent experiences, with a look of fondness and gratitude twinkling in their aging eyes.  I've seen that, too.  Nothing is more memorable than that.

On Friday night, our program hosted a Mothers' Day edition of our bi-monthly "Parents' Night Out," an evening that parents can enjoy without their kids thanks to our watchful eye and inexpensive resources.  These events are often very flexible -- it's my Friday night, too -- so if a few of the older kids want to listen to music behind closed doors for an hour or two, I'm more open-minded than usual.  Of course, I stick my nose in their business every ten minutes or so, if only to remind myself why those adolescent years were the most awkward and inappropriate of my life.  This time, I was perplexed and amused by how the kids were entertaining themselves; this time, the kids were telling "yo momma" jokes.

I know "yo momma" jokes never really went away, but the recent popularity aptly-titled popular MTV "game show" has incited a renaissance of the maternal mockery on a surprisingly pre-teen level. 

"Yo momma's so fat she sat on a rainbow and made Skittles."

"Yo momma's so poor she got married for the free rice."

"Yo momma's so hairy she made Chewbacca say, 'Damn, girl, you need a haircut!'"

Overhearing these jokes, I couldn't help but revel in their paradoxical nature.  On one level, "yo momma" quips are an excellent excerize in symbolism and allegory.   Even children understand that rainbows aren't tangible, yet they bend the laws of physics to create an improbable illustration of a potentially measurable fact.  That's, like, a metaphor!  Skittles, rice, and Chewbacca are all simple images most kids recognize, so to utilize these pop-iconic staples in a sphere of understanding beyond candy, culture, and Star Wars is a sign of sophistication!  They should be commended . . . 

. . . if said illustrations weren't designed to inflict emotional harm.  On Yo Momma, the contestants seem relatively rational, able to distinguish linguistic competition over personal attack.  Kids aren't there yet.  "Yo momma" jokes are the indirect hit of insults, targeting opposition through the vulnerability of a third party.  The unsuspecting child doesn't understand the quickness of the tongue, the legitimate wit "yo momma" jokes can inspire; instead, you've just made fun of their mother, and consequently, of them.  Ironically, although kids can interpret the joke's symbolic method, they just can't wrap their minds around its symbolic intent.  Maybe Billy's mom isn't really fat, but he won't appreciate your ability to trump their silver tongue; he'll just cry.

Of course, I didn't have this problem on Friday night.  I put a stop to the contest before it reached Wilmer level.  Sure, I didn't want to see any kids get hurt, but I felt a responsibility to the kids' moms, too.  We gave them a few hours off from their children for Mothers' Day . . . Why not a few hours off from their smart mouths, too?

Dear Parents and Guardians of America,

Pills and medication cannot parent your child as well as you can.

Love,
Everybody Else that Cares for Your Child