How Mentors Can Fight for a Child’s Heart

The chair hit the tile with a sharp crack, and every kid in the room looked up.

We were fifteen minutes into group time. I had just explained the activity, passed out a few supplies, and started helping one of the younger boys when DeAndre shoved his chair backward with both feet. It tipped over, slid across the floor, and smacked into the wall hard enough to make the room go quiet.

A couple of kids laughed. One kid rolled his eyes. Everybody else looked at me.

They were not waiting to see what DeAndre would do next. They were waiting to see what I would do.

I could feel my face get hot. I had planned that afternoon. We had a small window together, several kids who needed attention, and an activity that was already beginning to unravel. My first instinct was not to understand DeAndre. My first instinct was to make the disruption stop.

“DeAndre,” I said, trying to keep my voice even, “come step outside with me.”

He stood up slowly, dragged his shoes down the hallway beside me, and leaned against the lockers. His arms were folded. His jaw was tight. He stared down the hall as if I had nothing useful to say.

I started with the questions I usually asked when I was frustrated.

“What was that about?”

“Why did you do that?”

“What is going on?”

DeAndre shrugged. Then he stayed quiet. I asked another question, and he shrugged again.

Meanwhile, I could hear the group behind the door. I knew somebody needed to get back in there. The longer DeAndre stood quietly against that wall, the more I wanted an answer that would let me correct him, get an apology, and move on.

Then I caught myself.

I was trying to get DeAndre to explain his behavior before I had done any work to understand it.

So I stopped talking for a minute. The hallway was mostly quiet except for the faint noise of the group behind us. DeAndre kept tapping his heel against the tile.

Finally, I said, “It seems like today has been rough. What happened before you got here?”

DeAndre did not look at me right away. But after a few seconds he said, “My mom and her boyfriend were fighting all night. I barely slept.”

That did not make the chair okay. DeAndre still needed to pick it up. He still needed to take responsibility for disrupting the group. But it changed how I saw him.

DeAndre was not simply trying to ruin the afternoon. He was tired, embarrassed, and carrying stress that had started long before he walked into our program. He did not have the words or tools to handle everything he felt, so it came out through his foot hitting the back of a chair.

That moment reminded me that behavior is often not the whole story. It is the part of the story that comes out when a child does not know how else to say what they are carrying.

The Fight Is for More Than Compliance

I have been in versions of that hallway conversation more times than I would like to admit.

A mentee talks back. A kid refuses to participate. Someone makes a sarcastic comment, starts a conflict, shuts down, or tests the limits in front of everyone. In those moments, there is real pressure to respond quickly. Other kids are watching. The environment still needs to be safe. The activity has to keep moving. And if I am honest, part of me wants to feel like I can handle the moment.

That is why behavior is so tempting to focus on. It is loud, immediate, and obvious. I can see it. I can name it. I can correct it.

But the story behind behavior is usually quieter. It is layered. It takes time to uncover. Sometimes it does not come out until weeks later in a car ride, a game, or a conversation when nothing is going wrong.

When I focus only on behavior, I can accidentally communicate that what a child does matters more than who that child is. A kid who is constantly corrected can begin to believe they are the problem. A kid who is treated as a disruption can start to live into that identity. A kid who is only noticed when they make a mess may keep making bigger messes because negative attention still feels like attention.

The fight for a child’s heart is bigger than getting a child to comply in one moment. Of course, kids need boundaries. Kids need adults who are willing to say, “That was not okay.” They need structure, consequences, and adults who can help them learn responsibility.

But they also need adults who refuse to reduce them to their worst moment.

There are no bad kids. There are kids who have made bad choices, kids who need correction, and kids who need to take ownership. But underneath much of the behavior we see are young people who are hurting, scared, overwhelmed, ashamed, or trying to survive with the tools they have.

That does not excuse harmful behavior. It simply changes the way we interpret it.

What the Behavior May Be Saying

The longer I mentor, the more I have come to believe that behavior is communication.

A young person may not know how to say, “I am scared,” so they become controlling. A child may not know how to say, “I feel stupid,” so they disengage before anyone can expose them. A teenager may not know how to say, “I do not think you will stay,” so they push an adult away first.

What looks like disrespect may be self-protection. What looks like laziness may be discouragement. What looks like apathy may be a kid who has tried before and decided it was safer not to care.

I remember a young man named Carlos who would regularly check out during group time.

Carlos sat in the back, avoided eye contact, and made comments under his breath when other people were talking. When I called on Carlos, he would act like he did not care or like the activity was beneath him.

At first, I saw Carlos as disrespectful. I set expectations. I reminded him to engage. I corrected the comments. And for a little while, Carlos would improve. But the same pattern always returned.

Eventually, I caught Carlos outside the pressure of the group. We were walking to grab a snack after one of our meetings, and I asked him what it was like for him during group time.

Carlos hesitated, then admitted that he hated reading out loud. He felt behind in school and assumed everybody else noticed. When other kids answered quickly, Carlos felt like he was already losing. So he stayed disengaged. He made jokes before anybody could make a joke about him.

Carlos was not apathetic. Carlos was protecting himself.

That realization did not mean I stopped expecting Carlos to participate. It meant I changed how I invited him in. I gave Carlos ways to contribute without putting him on the spot. I checked in before the group started. I noticed small efforts. I tried to create moments where Carlos could succeed without feeling exposed.

The behavior did not disappear overnight. But Carlos began to trust that I was not trying to embarrass him or force him to perform.

That is part of fighting for a child’s heart. We are not just asking, “How do I stop this behavior?” We are asking, “What might this behavior be protecting? What is this child trying to communicate? What would it look like to hold a boundary while still helping this kid feel seen?”

Curiosity Changes the Relationship

I can project my own experiences onto a mentee faster than I realize.

I may assume a child’s behavior means the same thing it would have meant for me at that age. I may think a quiet kid is being disrespectful, when that kid is actually anxious. I may think an angry kid is trying to challenge me, when that kid is really embarrassed. I may think a young person does not care, when the truth is that caring has become too risky.

That is why curiosity matters so much.

Curiosity does not mean we become passive or avoid leadership. Curiosity means we slow down long enough to admit that we do not know the full story. It means we ask questions that invite reflection instead of questions that put a kid on trial.

There is a difference between, “Why did you do that?” and, “What was going on for you when that happened?”

The first question can feel accusatory. The second question makes room for a young person to think, name what they feel, and begin to connect actions with what is happening underneath them.

Sometimes a mentee will not answer. Sometimes the answer will not be satisfying. Sometimes you will need to address the behavior before you ever understand the whole story.

But your posture still matters.

Kids can tell the difference between an adult who wants to win a power struggle and an adult who wants to know them. They can tell whether correction is coming from embarrassment and irritation or from genuine care.

When a mentee begins to sense that I am trying to understand instead of simply control, trust grows. It may not grow quickly. It may not look dramatic. But over time, that posture creates room for more honesty.

How to Respond Without Losing the Child

Pause before you react

When I feel a strong reaction rising in me, I try to create a small gap between what I see and how I respond. That pause may only be a few seconds, but it gives me room to breathe and ask a better question.

What else could be going on here? What happened before this moment? Am I reacting because this child needs correction, or because I feel embarrassed, inconvenienced, or frustrated?

That pause does not remove the need to act. It helps me act from intention rather than emotion.

Circle back when the room is calmer

The best conversation rarely happens in the middle of the disruption. Sometimes you need to handle the immediate situation, protect the group, and come back later.

A car ride, a walk, a snack after group, or a few minutes before everyone leaves can become a much better setting for an honest conversation. When there is no audience and no immediate pressure, a mentee is more likely to let you see what is underneath.

Describe what you saw without assigning motive

Instead of telling a child why you think they acted a certain way, name what you observed and invite them to help you understand it.

“I noticed you got really quiet after that question.”

“I saw you push your chair back and leave the group.”

“I noticed you seemed upset when the plans changed.”

This keeps the conversation grounded. It gives the child room to tell you whether your interpretation is right or wrong.

Keep identity separate from behavior

Pay close attention to the language you use.

Instead of labels like bad, lazy, disrespectful, or attention-seeking, describe the actual behavior and its impact. You can say, “You interrupted several people today, and that made it hard for the group to focus,” while also saying, “I am glad you are here, and I believe you can grow.”

That distinction tells a young person that a bad choice is not the same thing as a bad identity.

Look for patterns over time

One difficult moment does not tell you everything. Pay attention to when behavior tends to show up. What happens before it? Who is around? Are there certain activities that create tension? Has something changed at home, school, or with friends?

Looking for patterns helps you move from constantly reacting to individual incidents toward understanding the bigger picture.

The Heart Behind the Moment

Mentoring has a way of exposing where I want simplicity in situations that require depth.

It is easier to address what I can see than to engage with what I cannot. It is easier to correct the chair on the floor than to ask what happened before a kid walked through the door. It is easier to manage a moment than to fight for a heart.

But the visible behavior is rarely the full story. It is an entry point, not a conclusion.

When I treat behavior as communication, my role changes. I become less focused on immediate correction and more invested in long-term understanding. I still hold boundaries. I still expect growth. I still tell the truth.

But I do those things with a greater awareness of the person behind the behavior.

DeAndre needed to pick up that chair. He needed to own the disruption. But DeAndre also needed an adult who could see past the chair, past the frustration, and past the moment where he acted out.

He needed someone willing to say, “What you did was not okay, but I am not done with you. I want to know what is going on.”

That is what it means to fight for a child’s heart.

Discussion Questions

1. When you encounter challenging behavior, what assumptions do you tend to make, and how might those assumptions shape your response?

2. What might one recent behavior from your mentee be communicating beneath the surface?

3. What would it look like to respond with both a clear boundary and genuine curiosity in your next difficult mentoring moment?