A few years ago I was chatting with my dad about his long life and relationships. I asked him to name things he’d done over his life that he is proud of. I was taken aback to be met with silence – and it wasn’t a-thinking-it over kind of silence, either.

Eventually my dad shrugged and said, “Really, there isn’t much I can think of.” When I pushed him, he became uncomfortable. I let it drop. I understood that, for him, naming accomplishments is synonymous with blowing his own horn or being arrogant. He couldn’t do it.

My dad is a man who has been actively involved in his community for years. People tell me about courageous and thoughtful things they have seen him do or heard him say. The speak of the leadership he has provided in his community. Some mention his efforts to get the local council to take a more active role in regulating building along the town’s waterfront. Others talk about his environmental work for the local Marsh Society. He’s inspired many, so his discomfort with naming his strengths bothered me. It prodded me into doing two things. One on the home front, the other at school.

For my birthday that year, I told my partner, “No gifts, no fuss.” I wanted each of my children – three boys – to write me a letter about what they were proud of having done in the past year.

Each of them struggled with my request, but, eventually, I got my letters – that year, and for a few more after that. I even scored a what-I’m-proud-of email one year from one of the boys, traveling in southeast Asia. Working hard on the slap shot during hockey season, getting a good grade from a demanding high school English teacher, developing his voice as a writer – these are some of the things the boys wrote about.

I don’t fool myself that the guys sit down and write these missives out of anything but a sense of duty to their mom. It’s easier, maybe, than finding me a present! But the fact that they articulated what they feel good about, is what matters to me.

Self-esteem is not built on praise – although meaningful praise counts. It’s built on understanding our competencies and skills.

The conversation with my dad affected what I did at school, too. When I asked my students the same question I’d asked him, I got the same response. I understood why. I work with children who are behind in literacy and numeracy. They know they are behind and they don’t feel good about themselves.

I began teaching the actual words we can use to name our positive qualities and strengths. I also started taking the time to point out those qualities and strengths during class time. When someone kept at a task even when it was difficult, I would comment on it. If a child helped a classmate, we acknowledged it out loud. We had chats about what are we good at.

I also initiated frank discussions about work habits. I wanted them to understand what good ones are, and how by choosing to have them, we are making positive choices in life. I wanted these young people to see that getting through in school was not something serendipitous. It was something they could exert some control over and that good work habits cold help. Watching them in class had shown me that they wanted to do well. They were willing to work – they just didn’t know what steps to take and got discouraged quickly.

Over the past few years I’ve been fine tuning how to teach good work habits and how to gets my students talking about their strengths without feeling self-conscious or sounding boastful. But that conversation with my father came back to me again the other day.

I was trying to help Amir with two digit multiplication. When I asked the group I was working with if anyone was finding it tough, he spoke up. Big congratulations for admitting his confusion! We sat down together and walked through a couple of questions with him telling me what to do at each step. Suddenly, he said, “I think I’ve got it!” I then gave him a couple of questions to do on his own. He whipped through the first one with no problems. Lots of explicit praise for remembering the steps. Second question, he started to stumble and sat there frozen.

“I can’t do it,” he said.

“Yes, you can, you just did it here,” I said. “Let’s review what we did.” Half-hearted participation until he realized he was doing it right this time.

“Want to try another one on your own?”

“Yes.” He went on to complete eight more questions – all of them following the correct steps.

That, though, was not the end of the lesson. After we marked his answers together, I sat him down and asked him to go over what had just happened. Together, we named what he’d done. He admitted he was confused. He accepted the help that was offered.He tried to work independently and kept going when it was rough. He accepted more help until eh figured it out.

The next morning during Snack and Chat time, I asked Amir to name what he had done in math class the previous day. He did. He said all the things he said before. A week later, in one of his journal entries, he wrote that he felt he was a good candidate for Student of the Month because he kept on trying when the going got rough.

I got a little weepy reading it.