His words took my breath away. I was performing a routine task, but my seven-year-old son, Jack, could see I was struggling. “You can do it, Dad!” he cheered.
Jack could have watched and said nothing. He could have walked away. He could have made a disparaging comment. Instead, he offered enthusiastic encouragement. His words warmed my heart and fueled my efforts, and I succeeded.
My son Jack has always seemed exceptional, at least to me. He inspired a previous KevinMD essay, “Life Hacks of a 9-Month-Old Infant.” Since then, Jack has faced more than his share of challenges. In response, my wife and I, along with his teachers, have consistently showered him with unbridled encouragement. How wonderful that he internalized our optimistic and supportive attitude!
Students and teachers
Jack’s comment set me thinking about my professional learning experiences and those of my current medical students. Perhaps my recall of med school and residency suffers from negativity bias, but harsh critiques vastly outnumber encouraging words. For example, as a first-year resident at the Montreal Neurological Institute, I initially performed dismally on the wards and in-service exam. (In my defense, there were mitigating circumstances.) However, the chairman’s response was to haul me into his office and declare I was an embarrassment to the Institute. He threatened expulsion if I did not promptly improve. I remember his overbearing presence but nary a word of encouragement.
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Learning neurophysiology
My students make their share of mistakes. I wonder: Am I more generous with critiques than accolades? Why is it so natural to pour gallons of praise on children but sprinkle only a few drops on adults? I am sure my professors’ many criticisms were well-intentioned. But their archaic teaching style flies in the face of what we now know about the neurophysiology of learning.
Praise triggers dopamine release and a pleasure response. Dopamine also strengthens synaptic connections that cement memories. Praise is a powerful neurochemical learning tool; criticism, not so much. Why be so stingy with praise?
Jack’s pronouncement “You can do it, Dad!” was more than just encouragement. It was not “You might do it” or “You probably can do it.” It was a motivating statement of faith: I believe that you can do it! Professors are more than cheerleaders, but do we not believe in our students? Perhaps we should let them know more often?
Conclusion
Once again, my son Jack, Master of the Universe, has taught me an important lesson, one that will make me a better teacher and role model for my students.
I can do it! Thanks, Jack!
Andrew Wilner is a neurologist.
