When I was 10 years old, I broke my eight-year-old sister’s wooden (which makes it sound like I grew up in Victorian times!) scooter by attempting to jump it off a kerb. I had already been warned by my grandad that this eventuality was extremely likely following my first attempt at this stunt, and the subsequent protest noises that the scooter- and my little sister- had made.
“You break it, you fix it,” my grandad’s words echoed in my ears as I landed awkwardly following the second, doomed attempt and watched the front axle of the scooter dislodge on landing, causing the wheel to roll gracefully down the street whilst I writhed on the floor with a sore elbow.
True to his word, instead of allowing me to enjoy the latest episode of Thundercats on TV, my grandad ensured I spent the rest of the afternoon in the workshop attached to his garage, repairing my sister’s scooter. He didn’t shout at me; he didn’t even scowl. I imagine there was a knowing roll of the eyes when I fell off the scooter, but I was too busy with that elbow to notice.
In that workshop though, he was by my side giving me instructions, supervising my use of his tools and very deliberately ensuring that it was me that did the work. I certainly remember accepting that I wasn’t leaving that workshop until the job was done!
This approach of my grandad’s was somewhat of a mantra in how he instilled discipline- both with me and his other four grandchildren, and in his professional capacity. A primary school headteacher in the centre of Birmingham for over 30 years, he always had a knack for balancing warmth and love, with no-nonsense boundaries and firmness.
Probably- without knowing it- ahead of his time.
“You break it, you fix it” is now at the core of many school behaviour policies today- especially those like ours that value restorative and reparative ideals so highly.
Of course, “You break it, you fix it” doesn’t just need to apply to broken scooters and damaged properties. Although- it is a perfect logical consequence when those situations do arise.
In school, we focus on two main types of ‘consequence’: natural and logical. A natural consequence is one that will arise ‘naturally’ because of the action. In the case of me trying to be Tony Hawk on my sister’s scooter- the natural consequence was my sore elbow. A natural consequence can sometimes be enough on its own for a child to learn that the action might not have been a very good idea. However, in my case the various skateboarding injuries I sustained in my teenage years are probably good evidence that the natural consequence wasn’t enough!
“You break it, you fix it” is where the logical consequence comes in.
In the case of the scooter, the logical consequence that my grandad applied was ensuring that I spent time fixing that scooter. The same process works in school. You made a mess in the dinner hall because you were throwing food? Help clean the dinner hall!
Adult support is usually still needed with a logical consequence. I needed my grandad to show me how to fix the scooter. He gave me the tools and shared the skills I needed to repair it.
Of course, it is not always a physical object that is broken. It could be a relationship, a friendship or trust. Whatever is broken we want our children to play their part in repairing it, in putting it right. Just like in the scooter example, adult support will be needed. Children will need a school adult to show them how to repair what has been broken. How to fix a friendship, how to restore trust. They will need to be given the tools and taught the skills in these situations, in the same way I needed my grandad to show me how a socket set worked.
So, the big question: did it work? Did my grandad's firm yet warm intervention mean that I never again upset my sister, broke one of her toys, ignored an instruction?
No.
-But eventually it worked. Rarely are these things a quick fix, or a one-time lesson. For things to really embed and have a lasting effect, time, patience and consistency are needed.
We want the adults in our school providing that time and consistency, and showing warmth, love, but absolute firmness in that approach, in those boundaries.
Just like my grandad.
