Funny or Not Funny–A Lesson in Unconditional Positive Regard

Today during my planning time at school, I found myself reflecting on the concept of unconditional positive regard. This is a prerequisite for forming relationships with students (and all people, really) who don’t strike you right away as super likable. It’s a mind over matter thing. We are teaching professionals. We’ll make ourselves like you, by golly.

I nodded and wrote all of that down in my trusty notebook at teacher training years ago. Great idea. We should definitely do that.

Except…how?

I finally figured out how to articulate the thought process which produced this magically unconditional positive regard in my heart and mind.

When someone says or does something super irritating or downright horrible, I say to myself, “So-and-So is probably doing the best he can today. How can I help?”

Caveat: This only happens when I’m the best version of myself. On other days, I swoop in like an avenging angel leaving a trail of scorched earth in my wake. Usually in public. In front of my mortified teenagers. But it rarely happens in the classroom these days because Mrs. Parker truly is the best version of me.

Here’s an example of a particularly cringe-worthy moment from a day in my classroom back in September of 2021, the twentieth anniversary of 9/11.

Scene: Music teacher accidentally overturns a bucket of rhythm sticks, and they scatter all over with a mighty crash.

Third grader, raucously: “Whoa! That’s just like the Twin Towers!” (laughs at his own joke)

Teacher and Paraprofessional exchange horrified looks.

Teacher wonders aloud: “Oh, friends. Have you been learning about the Twin Towers in your classroom?”

Children nod.

Teacher: “Tell me what you know about that day.”

Children summarize things pretty accurately.

Teacher: “So I’m thinking that maybe what we need is a little help knowing what is clever and funny and what is not clever and funny. Let’s think it over…”

These moments happen more often than you might think. Here’s a snapshot from my class this week.

Second Grader, gleefully: “This is just like when the Titanic sank!”

Teacher: “Hmmm…remind me what happened on the Titanic.”

Other Second Grader, cautiously raising her hand: “Well…many people drowned in the ocean?”

Teacher: “They did. It’s true. I wonder how their families felt when that happened.”

Children: “They felt sad…”

Years ago, I created a game for my kindergartens called “Food or Not Food.” The rules are simple. I call out an item, and the children tell me if it’s food or not food.

Banana?  Food!

Candy Bar? Food!

Your shoelaces? Not Food! (at this point, several children silently spit out the shoelaces they have been sucking on)

Henceforth, if I ever glance at children and say, “Food or not food…” they release the non-food item in their mouth. Easy peasy.

For older students who are still discovering the concept of tact, I give you: Funny or Not Funny.

A clown slipping on a banana peel? Funny!

Somebody’s grandma slipping and breaking her hip. Not funny.

Cancer? Not funny.

Screaming goat videos on youtube? Funny.

Any disaster or tragic event that killed people? We agreed that would not be funny. But the emphasis was on figuring this out together, not on shaming the kid who said the cringey thing. In fact, I’m not sure any of them remembered who initiated the conversation by that time.

But I’ll tell you what required some nuance: Are farts funny or not funny?

Turns out, it depends. My second graders were starkly divided according to gender on this one.

Teacher: “So let’s say there’s a brand-new student at our school. And it’s taco day. And in PE she accidentally toots a little…”

Boys, confidently: “That’s funny!”

Girls, horrified: “No! That’s not funny!”

Boys, genuinely baffled: “…but…why not?”

It took us a moment to nail down the emotion that you feel when you accidentally toot in front of people you don’t know and your face turns red and you feel warm all over, but in a bad way.

Teacher: “Just curious. What could you do to help someone not to feel embarrassed if she accidentally tooted in front of the class?”

The children put their heads together and came up with a list of truly terrible suggestions. Here’s the grand prize winner.

Well-meaning Boy, inspired: “I know! You could tell everybody that her toot hardly even smelled that bad. So they should all stop laughing.”

Bless it.

The point is, kids are constantly showing us what they know and what they haven’t learned yet. I have high expectations of kids—for their behavior and their effort. And they almost always meet those expectations. But in those moments when they don’t, the best version of me remembers that they might need explicit instruction. Tossing out a consequence (even if it’s just a pointed rebuke) might scare them into compliance for the moment, but it won’t give them skills to work the problem. And it will almost certainly make them less likely to ask for or receive my help.

On a related note, it occurs to me that the things we laugh at reveal some things about us.