Working with eighth-grade kids, I’ve learned to accept progress in small steps. Behaviors don’t change overnight. They don’t even change over-week or over-month. But small changes can happen suddenly. Small changes that can grow. Small changes that serve as a foundation. Small changes that aren’t so small.

I have a student that I love. And hate. And hate to love. And love to hate. He’s got potential. He’s got a great personality. Everyone loves him. But he talks.

Constantly.

No, constantly.

No, I mean constantly.

No, I really mean constantly.

That is almost not an exaggeration. A slight exaggeration, but only very slight. He loves gossip. He loves knowing something someone else doesn’t know about someone they know in common. He loves telling people things they don’t know. He loves being a clearinghouse of useless personal information about others.

In the midst of this gossiping, this chatting, this constant sharing of information, he often gets called down. And this behavior he consistently exhibits makes him the focus of teachers’ attention so that they call him down for everything. And that frustrates him. Leads him to argue. Leads him to be disrespectful. Leads him to making very bad decisions sometimes.

I have him in homeroom and English class. Almost every day as he leaves, I tell him, “K, make good decisions today.”

“Yes, sir,” he says. (Did I mention he can be a perfect example of Southern manners?)

Later in the day, before eighth-grade students came back from related arts, I saw him again.

“K, have you been making good choices today?”

“Yes.” He proceeded to tell me about an instance when a teacher called him down and told him to close his Chromebook. “I was going to argue with, but I just closed my Chromebook.”

Two little actions from one decision: to do one thing and not do another. Two actions that most of us would do without thinking about it when told to do so by an authority figure. Two actions that would go unnoticed in other students. Two little actions; one little decision. And so much pride.

“See? It wasn’t that hard, was it?” I said.

“No, sir.”

“And the whole conflict — it just vanished instantly, didn’t it?”

“Yes, sir,” he smiled.

Next step: get him to repeat it. Often.