For Teachers

Every teacher makes hundreds of "where does this go next" judgments in a day — when to ask, when to state, when to just wait.

Child development specialist Siggie Cohen's observation about parents holds true in a classroom too: dressing a required action as "can you?" invites unnecessary pushback. "Can we quiet down?" "How many times do I have to remind you?" — those aren't questions; they're commands we didn't state.

Her principle: Say What You Mean. Before you speak, ask: what am I trying to communicate? Then say it plainly.

Starting a lesson: not "Are we ready?" — "We're starting. Please turn to page thirty-four."

After a fight: not "Why did you hit him?" — "In our class, we don't hit. You're angry right now, I know — let's find another way to tell him."

Roughhousing in the hall: not "Are you at it again?" — "The hallway is a quiet place. Please come back and try that walk again."

Then when do you ask? — When it's actually worth asking. "What did that story remind you of?" "For that problem, what's the first step you thought of?" "Is there an answer you're not sure of yourself?" — that is where a question does its real work.

Classroom order isn't built on authority. It's built on clarity. A child who knows where the edges are has room left over to be curious, to try, to be wrong.

When you take your energy back from nagging, interrogating, and reprimanding, you can give it to teaching, watching, being with them. That, in itself, is the tenderness the students feel.

Reem Raouda, a parenting coach who has worked with over 200 children, recently wrote a piece for parents naming seven signs a child is building emotional intelligence. We want to put those same seven things back into the classroom — because the side of a child you see is the side most parents cannot.

1. They can name what they're feeling. Watch for the student who can actually say "I'm tired today" or "something's off." Putting a feeling into words is already taking responsibility for it. When a child blows up, throws something, slams a door — they aren't "difficult." They simply don't have the words yet. Teaching the words beats demanding silence.

2. They come to you when something is wrong. The child who slips in at break to tell you "I had a fight" or "I don't have friends" has decided you are a safe harbor. The opposite is the warning: the child who never comes to you may be the one who needs you most.

3. They can be disappointed without falling apart. Lost the match, got the lower grade, missed the part — they may cry, they may go quiet, but they recover. Not because they don't care, but because they aren't defined by a single bad day. Your job is to give them time, not to rush them to an answer.

4. They notice how other people feel. "Teacher, are you OK today?" — that student is rare. They are looking at the world with the eyes of a future Bole. Tell them so. Let them know that noticing is a gift, not nosiness.

5. They can actually apologize. Not the forced "sorry" to avoid trouble, but the moment they see they've hurt someone and want to repair it. That kind of self-awareness is rare even in adults. When you see it, remember the child — they are not just "good"; they are already beginning to be their own teacher.

6. They can ask for what they need. "I need a minute alone." "Can I sit next to you?" A child who can ask is a child who has been answered. If they can't ask, ask back: "What do you need right now?" That sentence is its own lesson.

7. They don't feel like they have to perform around you. This one is the easiest to miss. The emotionally intelligent child is not constantly managing the look on your face, not suppressing themselves to stay in your good graces. They can be a little tired in front of you. A little funny. A little wrong. That is the highest form of trust.

Emotional intelligence is not a subject. Children learn it from the adults around them — and you may be the most important adult in the building. Their parents may be too busy. The world outside may be sanding them down. But you saw them. That alone changes what is possible for them.