Kids love to nag, but some are far more adept at it than others. For some children,
they don’t seem to understand when you tell them no. Or they see the rebuttal as a
challenge. Others seem to mis-hear “no” or translate the word into “I’ll ask again
in three minutes when it’s been forgotten that I asked already”. This is what sorts
the pests from any other normal kid. No wonder some parents look worn down and worn
out.
But this is one of the occasions when I can sincerely say that I blame the parents. Otherwise, how is it that some children quietly accept “no” as just that, whilst others refuse to acknowledge an adult response and decide to pester until they get what they want? I’ll tell you the reason why, it’s because they haven’t learned the important lesson that no means no. And the reason they haven’t learnt it? Because weak-willed gullible parents give in at an early stage and therefore miss the opportunity of nipping pestering in the bud when the child is very young.
I’ll give you an example. The kids rush in after break. We’ve just settled down
to some work and then one will ask, “Can I go to the toilet?” My response is no,
we have just had break, and they must wait until the lesson is over. I try not to
get into a debate about it; after all, they should accept an authoritative “no” and
I gave them a reason. Many try to debate as a method of pestering. I can guarantee
that in fifty per cent of cases, three minutes later the same child will ask again.
Again, I will say no and give my reason. It’s not just me being mean: one of the
lesser school rules is no children out of classrooms during lesson times. I say it’s
a lesser rule because many other teachers ignore it and send their troublesome pupils
on long errands to get them out of their hair.
By now the kids will be doing individual or pair work and I’ll be moving around the
room, trying to avoid tripping over bags as I check on everyone’s work. Then I’ll
feel a tap on my shoulder, or as high as the child can reach, and a slightly whiny,
“I really need to go to the toilet…”. At this point I will probably explode, having
had enough of the pestering for one lesson, and spout a well-worn speech about no
meaning no, and the probability of me changing my mind not being in direct relation
to how many times they ask, and I’ll throw in a few appropriate foot-notes about when
they should use the toilet facilities and how teachers have to wait until breaks and
so should they, unless they have a doctor’s note.
This pestering scenario doesn’t always involve the toilet. It may involve using the computer, borrowing something, leaving the classroom for five minutes to go and take some homework to another teacher, and so on.
One pest in a class is just about manageable. Doing something different in a lesson increases the amount of pestering that goes on, and the amount of pupils doing it. Take, for example, a trip to the computer suite one lesson, and the pestering that goes on reaches critical level. No matter how clear and slo-o-o-w my initial instructions, no matter how long we spend clarifying points with whole-class questions and answers before the activity, hell, it doesn’t even matter that everything is re-iterated on handouts or on a board that everyone can see, still the pestering comes.
“Can I print on coloured paper?”
“Can we work as a four not a pair?”
“Can I go onto this really cool website?”
“Can I go to the toilet?”
Okay, some of this pestering is because of the change from the norm, and many of
the pests are pacified with my first response. But a hard-core of pests will
continue, nagging and repeating themselves and whinging and whining and pulling
on my sleeve to get my attention, five or six of them on and on and on… It’s hard
to remain calm. I want to swat them all away like flies. I want to swear at them
or shout to shut them up. It’s difficult to remain calm. I don’t always manage it.
Sometimes I’ll explode.
“Oh for goodness’ sake, what’s the matter?! You know what to do, go back to your seats!” I might yell. (“Goodness’ sake” is my own private code. It’s a substitute phrase for something far, far worse.) I might even tell them at that point that if we continue to have so much fussing we won’t come and use the computers again.
But why haven’t these children learnt by the age of 11, 12 or 13 that no means
no? That when an adult tells them no then they should understand that’s the end of
the matter and that repetitive nagging doesn’t get them what they want? Parents
need to learn a valuable lesson that will save them a lot of grief later on.
Train your children when they’re young to understand the word “no” and they
will be less of a pain when they’re a bit older. It might break your heart to
see your toddler having a tantrum because they haven’t got their own way. It
might make you feel like the favourite parent if you can provide your child with
what they nag for when the other parent has said no. But giving in to a whinging
child turns that child into a pest. Pest? That’s putting it lightly. Mega-whiny-
spoilt-bratty-pain-in-the-butt might be more spot on.
Look parents. If I can tell them no when there are seven simultaneous nagging children trying to wear me down, whilst trying to mend a broken printer and keep an eye on 23 other kids at the same time, then you can do it with your solitary child at the right age. Let’s put a stop to pester power now!
added 5/6/05
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