An email pops up on my computer which reads, “Freddy is disturbing the whole classroom and I need you to come talk with him.” As the principal of a small school in North Idaho, my job is one of servant leadership, so I pop out of my chair and head down the hall to the classroom of the teacher in need.

The teacher and Freddy meet me at the door of the classroom and, before I have a chance to offer help, the teacher explains — obviously frustrated by Freddy’s actions — that, “This child finds it impossible sit in his chair and learn. He is wondering around the classroom, talking with his friends and when I ask him to sit, he mocks my words then laughs.” With every word the teacher speaks, Freddy’s head bows further, his shoulders concave and his face reddens. With every word the teacher speaks, her face reddens, her mouth tightens and her eyes moisten.

“I asked him a hundred times to sit down and quit bothering other people. Freddy obviously has a listening problem.”

I ask Freddy to tell me his side of the story and he immediately breaks into tears and yells, “She hates me!”

Realizing that nothing positive will come from continuing this conversation in the hall with an audience of students, parents and staff watching, I kneel down, allowing me to meet Freddy eye-to-eye and ask, “Want to go for a walk bud?”

Wiping his nose and eyes with the sleeve of his shirt, he looks at the teacher, looks at me and slowly nods yes. Visibly frustrated with my approach, the teacher scoffs, turns around and re-enters her classroom.

Freddy and I search for some privacy, spy an empty playground and head out the door. Once outside, I begin to ask questions about Freddy’s weekend, his favorite food, if he has pets and what he likes to play. We play this question and answer game of distracting the distractor for a few minutes until I see Freddy calming. Once Freddy is in a positive psychological state, we can have a conversation about his classroom behavior.

We talk about his classroom expectations, why his teacher becomes frustrated by his behavior and how he might heal the relationship with his teacher. We create a plan: talk together with the teacher, and Freddy has a great rest of his week.

As the saying goes, it takes two to tango. The teacher owns a portion of Freddy’s negative behavior — Freddy and the teacher are having a difficult time dancing together. Skilled teachers use numerous techniques, motivational tools and behavioral modification skills to maintain positive student relationships and to create an engaging, interactive classroom. While these tools are in place in this classroom, one thing is missing: ensuring the positive self-worth and dignity of every child in the classroom. Freddy lost his dignity.

When a child (or adult) loses his or her dignity the child has two choices: to place an emotionally protective blanket over the top of him/her and become quiet and complacent, or to negatively regain one’s dignity by attacking, making fun of or disrespecting the one who stole the dignity. Both defense mechanisms work acutely but fail chronically.

When the child yells, belittles or teases his or her attacker, the audience responds with laughter, horror, admiration or distain. The child regains a sense of false dignity that states, “I’m not afraid, you didn’t hurt me, I’m still cool.” When a child hides in his/her protective emotional blanket the child states, “You don’t see me, I’m not here; aim your hate-arrows elsewhere.

When an adult belittles, teases or becomes frustrated and says hurtful things to a child the adult needs to reflect: what do I want from this interaction — do I want to start a war, do I want to have the child cower away and lose his or her self-worth, or do I want the child to learn and grow? Words hurt and words heal. Today I remember hurtful words spoken to me 40 years ago. Today, I also remember kind, loving words offered by nurturing teachers who created classrooms of respect and dignity.

I remember Ms. Bretz, my third grade teacher who told me I was a “math wizard.” Her words propelled me to become an educator. I also remember my high school counselor calling my friends and I a bunch of losers. I believed him and lost my moral and emotional compass for a few years. Words matter.

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Send comments or other suggestions to William Rutherford at bprutherford@hotmail.com or visit pensiveparenting.com.