I love to observe.

It is one of my favorite parts of my work. When I’m immersed in direct instruction, it’s easy to become focused on goals, prompting, and planning the next activity. But I’ve learned that some of the most important teaching happens when I pause long enough to simply watch.

Recently, I was working with a student who has a complex learning profile. He has low vision, reduced hearing, physical disabilities, and speech and language differences. This little guy is a bundle of joy—happy, expressive, and a master communicator using a total communication approach. The adults in his life have learned to become investigators, always curious about what he is really trying to tell us beyond the obvious.

He startles easily… and he does not like to be startled.

He prefers calm environments that are familiar and predictable. Soft voices. Familiar routines. The opportunity to see your face and facial expressions. Knowing that, you might already guess that he isn’t a fan of loud celebrations.

Success, as many of us naturally celebrate it, actually scares him.

What I Thought I Knew

As we worked together one day, he demonstrated a new skill—a skill I knew he had. I’d seen glimpses of it before, but he had been reluctant to show me consistently.

Finally.

He did it.

Without thinking, my excitement took over.

“YES!!”

“Nice work!!”

“Woo hoo!!”

That felt like the right response. After all, isn’t that what we’re taught to do? Celebrate success. Reinforce the behavior. Show students they’re on the right track.

Praise is meant to encourage students to try again.

At least, that’s what I thought.

The Moment That Changed Everything

The moment I celebrated, he startled.

When I asked him to try again, he slowly inched his fingers forward… and then stopped.

He paused.

He held back.

He wouldn’t do it again.

Not because he couldn’t.

Not because he didn’t understand.

He was avoiding my reaction.

That realization stopped me in my tracks.

What looked like refusal wasn’t refusal at all.

He wasn’t avoiding the task.

He was avoiding the celebration that came afterward.

WOW.

How many times have I, or someone else, mistaken behavior for something it wasn’t?

The InSIGHT

That moment reminded me of something I believe deeply, yet somehow still need to relearn.

Every student is different.

What motivates one child may overwhelm another.

What feels encouraging to one student may feel uncomfortable—or even frightening—to someone else.

The goal of reinforcement isn’t simply to celebrate. The goal is to communicate, “That worked. I see you. Let’s do it again.”

If my reinforcement causes a student to avoid the task altogether, then I’ve missed the mark.

The answer wasn’t to stop celebrating.

It was to celebrate in a way that was meaningful to him.

I quickly learned that this little guy preferred quiet praise. A simple exaggerated head nod or a “yes” sign was all he needed.

The first time I responded that way, he burst into a giant belly laugh.

Turns out, that was all the reinforcement I needed.

Taking It With Me

This experience reminded me, once again, to follow the lead of my students.

To pause.

To observe.

To stay curious.

The communication behind a behavior is rarely as simple as it first appears. Sometimes what looks like refusal is actually fear. Sometimes what appears to be a lack of motivation is really an attempt to protect oneself from something we never intended.

Those moments remind me that teaching isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about paying close enough attention to recognize when our assumptions need to change.

To this sweet little boy, thank you.

Thank you for reminding me that the best teachers are lifelong learners.

Thank you for trusting me enough to show me something I couldn’t have learned from a textbook or a training.

I hope I carry your lesson into every student I have the privilege to teach after you.