I USE A LOT OF behavior modification/reward type programs in my teaching. When developed and utilized properly, they can be a tremendous catalyst for students with special needs. They place the focus on appropriate skills and behaviors.
Every so often, an educator will complain that these kinds of activities defeat the purpose of true education. After all, they argue, learning should be rewarding in and of itself.
My reply is simple. We work for rewards, why shouldn't they? How many of us would continue at our jobs if it weren't for some accolade, be it a paycheck or something else?
Most behavior modification programs don't work because they're not designed properly. The types of rewards, or positive reinforcers, are often poorly thought out. I've seen junior high teachers who still give out M&Ms and Smiley Faces. The only candy bar that I could've gotten any mileage from would've been chocolate covered cocaine bars.
I decided early-on to make the stakes as crazy and as exciting as possible. I'd start with end-of-the-week parties featuring popcorn and ice cream. How much they got depended on how many points they earned. Once a week, the two best kids in the class would go out to lunch or dinner with me. Once a month, the top three winners in the class would go to a professional sporting event of their choice, be it the Bills (football), Sabres (hockey), or Braves (basketball, although they're now defunct). We also held special class trips and overnights. Sure, it meant extra bucks out of my pocket, but it also meant that I didn't go home with a migraine every day.
Basically, I gave points for good work effort and good behavior. In addition, they could earn points for walking quietly in the halls, using good sportsmanship in gym, sharing, working nicely with others, and coming to class on time.
During my first couple of weeks at Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Community School, I held daily, rather than weekly popcorn parties. We all needed an instant form of gratification. Like any good boy scout, I came prepared with my portable electric stove and pot. (Now, of course, it's the quick & easy microwave method. Back in the late 70's the microwave was new technology and it was often equated with nuclear reactors. We were sure that it would turn food into some fluorescent orange toxic mess).
"Fellows," I said. "It's now 2:15 PM and that means popcorn time. The points you earned today will determine how much popcorn you get. But first, a lesson in kosher eating."
Understandably, they look bewildered.
"A lesson in what?" they asked.
"I don't know if you noticed at lunchtime today, but I did not eat the school lunch. I only drank the juice. That's because, being an Orthodox Jew, I keep kosher. It means my eating habits are a bit different."
I didn't want to get into a long-winded lecture about it; so instead, I picked up the bottle of Wesson oil.
"Here, look closely," I said. "You see this O-U on the label, the circle with the U inside? It means that it's kosher. It means that Mr. Laz can eat this stuff. Got it?"
They looked at me as if I was out of my mind.
"You puttin' us on?" one student asked.
"We're gonna take this from the top, okay?" I said. "Any packaged products, like cereal, cookies, spaghetti, whatever; even this here bottle of oil, have got to have this kind of sign, the O-U, for me to eat it. It means it's kosher. There are even more symbols that indicate a product is kosher to eat, but let's just focus on the good ol' O-U here, okay?"
I drew the O-U on the board. I wasn't about to go into the other symbols, like O-K, or the triangle K, or the 16 gazillion other ones out there. Let this simple one sink in first.
"All right," I said, more hopeful than confident. "Let's whip up some popcorn!"
Instead of following me to the back of the room, they dashed off to their lockers. Great, I thought, they're cutting school because it's close to dismissal time. What a flippin' waste.
As I ran out to reprimand them, they returned to the room with goodies in hand. They had gone to retrieve their leftover snacks.
To my amazement, they bombarded me with questions.
"Is this kosher?" one asked, holding out a cookie.
"I don't see no O-U on this," another student said, pointing to his apple.
"How about this, Mr. Laz?" one said, holding a Beef Jerky toward my face.
"Let's discuss it over some popcorn," I said.
I was laughing as made my way to the back of the room. It was going to be an interesting year.
A few weeks later, we ran out of oil. I sent Leland to a small neighborhood store to get another bottle.
"Remember," I said, giving him the money. "Kosher, O-U oil."
Ten minutes later he returned, empty-handed.
"What happened?"
"They ain't got any of that oil," he said.
"Oh, come on," I said. "Everybody carries this stuff. What did you say? What happened?"
"They just ain't got it. The lady said she don't carry that kosher oil."
"All right," I said somewhat impatiently. "She might not have the same brand we've been using. Just look for the O-U. Would you mind going back again?"
Anything to get out of class. Ten minutes later he was back, empty-handed again. This time he spoke first.
"That lady be getting mad now," he said. "She ain't got the O-U oil. She said she never did and never will."
Something was fishy.
"This time, Leland, I'm going with you," I said. "Terrence and Phil, you will be in charge. You give out the stars. Everyone's got to be in their seats and working quietly to get points. We'll be back in three minutes."
The little neighborhood store was basically right outside the school. Before leaving, I asked the teacher next door to keep an eye on my class.
"Come on, Leland. Let's check out this oil lady!"
We got to the joint in approximately 30 seconds. It was a small store, loaded with all sorts of ethnic goodies, sights and smells mostly unfamiliar to me, although my eyes were drawn to a jar of pickled pigs' feet. Yuck, glad I keep kosher, I thought to myself. The counter was overloaded with candles, lighters, stockings and a million other doodads.
At first, the woman looked irritated to see Leland, but she smiled pleasantly when she realized I was with him.
"Ma'am, this is my teacher," Leland said apologetically. "He's the one I was buying that oil for."
"Yes sir," she said to me. "Your student asked me if I had any O-U Oil. I told him we don't. I never even heard of that one. But I got other kinds if it'll suit you."
I cracked up.
"I'm sorry," I said, still laughing. "There's been a little misunderstanding. We'll take one of those bottles over there."
I then showed them both that it wasn't a brand, called Oh You Oil, but oil with an O-U symbol on the label. Leland never made that mistake again. In fact, whenever we had to shop for a big class outing, Leland became a fierce label watcher. Once, he refused to bring back Planter's Peanuts because they only had a K on the package and not an O-U!