One thing I didn't understand until I entered teaching was both sons' complaints that their teachers were "mean". I figured that they thought that because they were expected to work and behave and generally had to do things that weren't fun. I'd heard that complaint from the time they could formulate the words any time my wishes ran counter to theirs and simply assumed these nice people I met in conferences and chatted briefly with during the week were "mean" in the same way I'm "mean" when I say, "Nooo..." or, "You're grounded!"

When I started working in schools, listening to mentors and conversations in the teachers lounges, I realized that my kids actually meant their teachers were Mean-like that boss you had 20 years ago and still complain about or like that sibling you no longer talk to. When I'd see how rough they were on their students or hear the contempt in their voices when complaining, I wondered if many of them became teachers because they had power issues and needed someone to exorcize those issues on.

I learned though that the ones I thought were the meanest had good intentions. But, as the saying goes, "The road to hell is paved with good intentions".

I see three basic beliefs in adults that lead to mean, disrespectful behavior toward teens: The Play-doh Belief, the Authoritarian Belief, and the Status Quo Belief.

(1) The Play-doh Belief:

This is the idea that kids are ours to mold into whatever we see fit. In actuality, they're more like granite and come into the world like mostly finished sculptures with some rough edges that need a little sanding and smoothing.

I stressed hard with my first son. He was so high-strung and high-maintenance that I just knew I was blowing it somewhere along the line and I knew equally well that I'd damn well better fix it or else he'd end up, well, bad. Then number two entered the world with a huge yawn. Low-key, mellow, and hardly a peep, his temperament stood in sharp contrast to his big brother who was prone to loud, destructive six-hour tantrums. "Oh", I smiled when I finally got it, "Maybe I didn't blow it. This one seems alright with me..." and I abandoned the idea that I was creating two boys from my cans of Play-doh. Instead of trying to 'fix' the loud Blondie, I looked for ways to help him use that power-house, head-strong, type-A personality to his advantage (instead of my descent into insanity). Life got easier.

One example of this was a well-meaning teacher I worked with who,

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