Fact or Fiction?


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All the news around seems to be sad or disappointing, so I figured I would share something a little more light-hearted for the readers to enjoy. Sometimes after listening to all this negativity in the media, there is not really much patience left in you to deal with the very children we advocate for. When that does happen, remember not to SNAP!

Sometimes after listening to all this negativity in the media, there is not really much patience left in you to deal with the very children you advocate for. When that does happen, remember not to SNAP!

There are studies that show that children can sense when adults get angry very easily. You do not even have to yell. Getting angry at children when you talk to them may get them to fabricate stories when there is no need to. A child only reacts and tells what they think will not get them in trouble. So the next time you get irritated, remember children can sense it. Make sure you use a comforting story or help them understand that you are there to help, as you ask them to respond to you. We all want the truth, so it’s important for us to know how to get it.

Then again, the child may not be afraid of your reaction at all. They may think that the result they want can only be obtained through fabrication, like this kid in the famous poem, Sick by Shel Silverstein. Enjoy! :)

Sick

By Shel Silverstein

“I cannot go to school today,”
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
“I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I’m going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I’ve counted sixteen chicken pox
And there’s one more–that’s seventeen,
And don’t you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut–my eyes are blue–
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I’m sure that my left leg is broke–
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button’s caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle’s sprained,
My ‘pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb.
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow’s bent, my spine ain’t straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is–what?
What’s that? What’s that you say?
You say today is. . .Saturday?
G’bye, I’m going out to play!”

smile

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