Fidgets

Patience begins to wear thin as the school year wanes. Add to that the latest craze for middle school students, fidget widgets. If you do not know what they are, consider yourself blessed. If you know what they are, sorry. A fidget widget is a spinning, whirring piece of plastic and ball bearings. In the hands of an easily distracted child, the gadget is tantamount to handing a baggie of cocaine to a meth addict.

Marketing geniuses discovered the Achilles tendon of parents. Advertisements tout the widget as an antidote for "fidgeting, stress, ADD, anxiety and leprosy" (okay, I lied on the last one). Somehow a spinning, noisy toy is supposed to let peace reign again in Kidland. There is a shred of truth in such logic. Restless kids do need an outlet for their energy, however, the students I have watched "destressing" usually fall into a hypnotic trance while watching their helicopters of desire go round and round. Meanwhile, their peers are subjected to the sound of buzzing bees and more students are off task than ever before.

The faulty premise of fidget widgets is the belief that no child should ever have to learn how to appropriately cope with stillness. News flash, most middle school students are riddled with pent up energy and angst. It is in their DNA. If Lester is antsy because he is supposed to write a one-paragraph response to a given question, that is normal. There are two ways such an assignment can go down. Lester can take out his widget and spin it until the period is over or Lester can pick up a pencil and start writing. Both involve action but only one gets the job done.

My advice to parents is to occasionally bring your middle schoolers to events that involve sustained periods of non-stimulation and, heaven forbid, sitting quietly. My parents chose to attend weekly church services, all children in tow, antsy or otherwise. This helped us exercise our muscles of respecting other people's space and understanding that egocentricity is not always advised. Drama presentations, symphony concerts and formal events also demand a quiet decorum. My old-fashioned belief is that teenagers are capable of more than staring at cellphones or watching things spin. It is the job of adults to guide them into maturity, not find quick fixes.

That being said, I have a few students who know how to quietly use a fidget gadget. I confess that I, too, found ways to quietly entertain myself as a kid. Enter, the hankie. Yes, I am that old. My sisters and I used them to create little boats, roll-ups and our favorite, babies in a blanket. The hankie was quiet and creative. Rest assured, however, if mom gave us the put-the-hankies-away-look, we stopped.

Certainly, we were not perfect kids and the same is true of most kids today. Parents, feel free to spend your money on fidget widgets or any gadget that may be a positive tool for coping. But, here are two cautionary thoughts:

1. Time and place for gadgets.

2. Hankies are cheaper.

Hankie Babies

Dandelion

Much hype the past few weeks over the impending loss of our little Crayola friend, Dandelion. Apparently, folks are quite attached to their boxes of crayons and in light of the current coloring craze, I suppose the umbilical cord of loyalty is increasingly difficult to sever. I am not a part of the coloring craze due to my ineptness with all things artsy, but I do love crayons. In fact, my first official memory of true covetousness was my lust for a flip-top box of 64 crayons with a built-in sharpener. (I also coveted my cousin's orange sweater in fourth grade. The Lord spared me from such nonsense considering my pallid skin tone.)

Purchasing back-to-school supplies was always a heady childhood experience. With seven children in school, budget was the foremost priority in our family, of course. One standard issue tablet of paper, a couple of pencils (real wood back then), perhaps an ink pen or two if you were in the upper grades and a crumbly gummy eraser were considered the basics. The piece de resistance, however, was the box of crayons. Mom held the purse so we were at her mercy. I am sure some begging and whining ensued, but the shekels in her wallet dictated whether we got an 8-count or a 16-count. Occasionally, a 48-count would slip into the cart (if you were in upper elementary) but, I do not remember acquiring the holy grail, the 64-count.

Despite my perceived lack of fortune, the brand new box of crayons, no matter the count, presented itself with its distinctive crayon fragrance as I opened the lid. All the colors stood at attention awaiting my creative commands. The array of color names was no less intriguing. Raw umber was perfect for shading the bark of a tree trunk. Maize added a golden pop to a flower or field of grain. Periwinkle was a dusty blue, perfect for an evening sky. Salmon was as close to the fish as a land-locked kid from the midwest was ever going to get and forest green took care of all your tree coloring needs. Of course, there were always the standards, red, blue, yellow, green and plum.

Crayola has stood the test of time with its hundred years of production and counting. They weathered the technology storm of LiteBrite screens, Etch-a-Sketches and coloring apps. Despite the dazzling allure of such options, the humble box of crayons beckons children and adults alike. Crayola wisely cycles crayon names in and out and creates a buzz of curiosity and nostalgia.

Thus, the exit of Dandelion. If you are so inclined, there is a farewell tour across America, bidding "Dan D" adieu. And sometime this summer, the adoption of a new color is in the wings, complete with a help-name-the-color contest. The only clue given about the new color is that it will be in the blue family.

So, get your thinking caps on. You could be a part of history and have a new crayon bear your favorite name for blue. If I happen to win the contest, I hope the crayon will only be found in the 64-count box. Surely, my contest winnings will include a new 64-count box of crayons.

Let the sharpening begin.

The corner

Long before there were parenting magazines, parenting blogs, parenting books and parenting life coaches, there were parents who figured out parenting. Generations before us managed to raise passels of kids. My own parents raised a household of seven lively children. The jury may still be out on their results, but so far, none of us are serial killers or drug addicts (unless you count blood pressure pills).

My mom was a teacher so she had discipline coursing through her veins. Rules were not suggestions and consequences followed poor choices. Picking on your little brother, "forgetting" to do your chores or talking sassy meant you were living dangerously. Mom meted out punishment swiftly and justly and there was a calming sense of order that prevailed.

One of mom's go-to consequences for naughtiness was "the corner." We were told to stand with our faces toward the corner of a wall in our kitchen. Mom set the timer so she could go about her tasks without having to watch the clock. There was something about staring at a blank wall with your back to the outside world that seemed torturous to a child. A five minute sentencing felt like five hours. Siblings sometimes giggled when they walked by your wall of shame. Your back ached because you had to stand still in one place. You were alone with your thoughts and you promised yourself that you would never commit such a crime again because the corner was not your friend. Finally, the timer dinged and you scampered off with a stern reminder from mom not to be so foolish again.

Such a tactic is now called time-out. I suppose it has a nicer ring to it than "the corner" but the concept is the same. Do the crime, do the time.

When the time came for me to begin parenting, books and magazines on rearing children were becoming more available. Dr. Spock (no relation to the Star Trek guy) was a go to author for many and I read some of his famous book, Dr. Spock's Baby and Child Care. I have no recollection whether his advice worked or not but it was an interesting read. The internet was not available for the masses, yet, so we didn't have to deal with the comparison monster. My friends were not posting glossy photos of their fabulous trips or their adorable children doing adorable things in adorable homes. The only way I knew what my mom friends were doing was to visit them face to face. I discovered we were all changing poopy diapers, losing sleep with crying babies and wondering if we were good enough parents.

As a teacher, I have worked with hundreds of children. It doesn't take long for me to identify the kids who have good parents. Good parents have kids who understand consequences. Their kids are not perfect. Their kids make mistakes. And their kids test the boundaries. But, through it all, good parents produce kids who know where the line is and their kids know that crossing the line will come at a price.

"The corner" may not have been a fun part of my youth, but I am grateful to my mom for sending me there when I needed it. And, no, I don't need to share how often I sat there. Let's just say, sometimes I needed a chair to complete my sentencing. Thanks, mom.