The extraordinary power of family and school | Roberta Bento | TEDxSaoPauloSalon

Roberta Bento had cerebral palsy at birth. A learning disability was one of the expected consequences along with other challenges that she would have to face. The years passed, and neuroscience brought a discovery that explains how that fragile child managed to become an internationally recognized educator. Bringing together neuroscience, education, and life history, she shows how parents and teachers can make a difference in a child's learning ability so that they develop their full potential!

Roberta Bento graduated in literature, specializing in language teacher training (International House, England) and has a postgraduate degree in marketing and people management from Fundação Getúlio Vargas (FGV). She has specializations in learning based on the functioning of the brain from the University of California and Duke University, and in cooperative learning from the University of Minnesota and the University of San Diego (United States).

This talk was given at a TEDx event using the TED conference format but independently organized by a local community. Learn more at https://www.ted.com/tedx

I spent at least 30 years of my life

traveling the world

to study and search out
successful educational experiences

that I could bring back
to inspire Brazilian education

and to attempt to answer

some very fundamental questions
that we must confront

to change the very negative relationship
our students have with their studies.

My mother had a problem
during my delivery,

and because of that, I had cerebral palsy.

The doctors informed my parents
they should be prepared

because I would have
a very challenging life:

I was likely to have difficulty
speaking and hearing,

I would certainly have
learning disabilities,

and the other problems, my parents
would have to help the doctors discover.

So when it came time for me to walk,

my parents discovered that I had
a severe problem in my lower limbs.

I began to undergo a series of surgeries

and spent the first part of my childhood
in between procedures.

Because of that,
I couldn't attend kindergarten,

and I entered the first grade
after the school year had started.

At that time,

the doctors and my parents realized

that my speech and hearing
hadn't been affected.

I started studying -

thanks to great effort from my parents
to get a school to accept me.

The first school said,
"No, she won't be able to keep up."

My parents went to the next school

and promised they would help
with whatever was necessary

if the school accepted me.

And then two things happened.

First, I was passionate about school

and I loved going to class.

And second, to everybody's surprise,

I quickly closed the gap
between me and the other students,

those who had gone to kindergarten

and those who had started
at the beginning of the school year.

From that point on, I was always
the best student in class.

I decided that I wanted to follow
a career in education

because I really wanted

to give back to education
the opportunity it had given me.

I decided that I would study literature

because I always loved grammar,
the Portuguese language, and literature.

But in the middle of my journey
through elementary school,

the teacher called my father
when I'd got to fifth grade,

and he said that I had a knack
for learning English,

and he asked if anyone at home
was helping me with it.

My father was a bricklayer,

my mother was a housewife,

and English had never been
anywhere near our home.

When my father heard this from the school,

he sought out different language programs

until he found a school
that accepted his proposal,

to trade his maintenance services
in return with English classes for me.

It was the only way he could afford it -

with his own work.

Thanks to that,
when I entered college at 17,

I already spoke English.

And when I finished college,

I was granted a scholarship
to do a specialization in England.

When I came back to Brazil,

I worked at coordinating
some language-teaching units

and was invited to grade master's
and doctorate papers of English students

at one of the first Brazilian universities
to have access to high-speed internet.

When I saw the internet at the university
and the computer in the school,

I had an idea,

and I brought these technologies together
to help improve language instruction,

allowing more students to learn English.

This generated news articles
in two big newspapers

from different Brazilian states.

And these articles
led to an invitation I received

to work in a company
that was coming to Brazil

with the initiative
of integrating technology

into all fields of knowledge.

I started working at this company
as a pedagogy assistant,

and I went through all the steps to become
the vice president of the company,

which operated in 89 countries.

I started traveling
to international conventions,

searching for answers -

in countries that had
the world's best education -

on how we could get students involved

and help teachers deal
with the enormous frustration

of preparing a class,

arriving at class all excited,

and leaving unhappy because
they couldn't get the students involved.

The more I got to know model schools,

the more I'd seek for inspiration

and would return to Brazil
to implement the projects.

So after a while -

despite the "she won't hear,
she won't talk, she won't learn" -

I was there, professionally accomplished,
fulfilling my mission in education.

Then came the time
to realize my life's dream:

to become a mother.

And when I decided it was time
to realize this dream,

I was told I wouldn't be able
to have a child.

Because of the issues I still have
from the cerebral palsy,

I wouldn't have a problem
getting pregnant.

But I wouldn't be able
to carry the pregnancy to term.

It took me some time
to process this information,

but I ended up thinking:

this very person,

to whom doctors are saying

it won't be possible
to realize her dream of having a child,

is also the person who was once told,

"You won't walk, won't talk, won't learn."

And I was doing all of that.

So I decided I'd try to make my dream
of becoming a mother come true.

I got pregnant,

and from the fifth month on,

I understood what the doctors
had been trying to tell me,

and I had a very complicated,
high-risk pregnancy

that required four months
of absolute rest.

On June 30, 1989,

my biggest dream came true:

my daughter was born strong and healthy

and began to accompany me
on my educational mission.

So every time she was on school vacation,

we would go together
to whatever country I was visiting

and to any Brazilian city
I went to for educational work

whenever she was on a break.

When it was time for her to go to college,

to my delight,

she trained in pedagogy
at the University of São Paulo.

After she finished university,
she had an idea:

to help the families

who were always asking us
for guidance, solutions, and ideas

about how to help their children
get more involved with their education.

So she started a project,

going to families' houses

and helping them to make
the adjustments needed

so the kids would get more involved
with their studies.

And every time she'd visit a family,

she'd call me, wherever I was,
and ask for my help.

And we realized that every time
we planned together,

the family enjoyed great success.

That student - child or adolescent -

was able to study,

to perform better,

and to be engaged with learning.

That is our biggest dream.

Then she invited me to work with her.

And that was how I went to this company,

where I had worked
for 18 years and 5 months,

where I'd built a career,

where I'd overcome several moments
of prejudice because I'm a woman

and because I'm disabled -

not inside the company,
but in the market -

and I resigned.

Many people thought I was crazy

to give up a career
I'd built with such hard work,

but I knew what I was doing.

I had two main motivations.

One, when my daughter invited me
to work with her in education,

I saw, before my eyes,

my life's dream coming together
with my life's mission:

my daughter in education,
inviting me to work with her.

This was my first motivation.

And the second was the desire that I had

to find out if the doctors had been wrong

saying that I would have
learning difficulties,

or if this diagnosis was correct,

what would have allowed me
to overcome this challenge?

At this time,

Taís, my daughter, and I
began to study cognitive neuroscience

to discover what happens in the brain
when we are learning

and maybe to find answers for me.

We've found marvelous
discoveries in neuroscience

that shed light on questions that teachers
confront every day in the classroom,

that parents face at home when the child
doesn't want to study or go to school,

and for the challenges
our students confront today

when they're not able
to pay attention, focus,

have the desire and eagerness to learn.

We were able to share with parents

that every child needs
a shared responsibility inside the home;

otherwise, they won't develop
a passion for their studies.

A child who hears all their life
from their parents,

"My child, your only job is to study.

I'll take care of the rest,"

doesn't develop a sense of responsibility,

self-esteem,

and the memory of procedures and facts

so that they can have
a positive relationship with learning.

And I found out that I'm the living proof

of one of the most recent
discoveries of neuroscience,

and that's neuroplasticity.

Neuroplasticity is the brain's ability
to restructure and recover itself

at any stage of life,

especially during childhood
and adolescence.

An environment rich in stimuli

allows the brain to regenerate itself

and to generate social
and cognitive behaviors

and motor skills

that would never have come about

if this student or this child
had never been exposed to challenges,

to praise,

and the belief that they are capable.

I discovered that the way
my parents had brought me up

made me who I am.

They left the maternity room

with the decision that they
would focus on my potential,

not on my deficiencies.

When my father took me to school
in the early days,

I still struggled to walk.

I'd just been released
from a series of surgeries.

I wore a very strange boot then,

and when he walked with me
on the street, holding my hand,

people followed us with their eyes.

When a child was with them,
sometimes the kid would point at us.

Every time this happened,
my father would look at me and say,

"They think your dress is very pretty,"

or "They are admiring your boot."

I believed all that so much
that I'd raise my head and say,

"Let me show off, right?"

My father, one Christmas -

at that time, parents could afford
just one present for all their children.

They felt happy at this accomplishment,
and their children did too.

My father bought a bicycle
as a gift for my three siblings and me.

My siblings unwrapped the bike
and ran out to the street to ride it.

I looked at my father and said,

"I want to ride the bicycle too."

And he said, "So go outside
and ask your siblings to help you.

If they can't help you,
come back and I will help you."

What I remember

is my brother sitting me on the bicycle,

my oldest sister securing me,

my little brother pushing me,

and I swear to you

that I have the memory
of riding the bicycle.

More than these attitudes and stances
coming from my parents,

I had the good fortune
that the school that accepted me,

although they had never heard
of the term "inclusion"

because it still didn't exist,

the school really included me.

All the teachers accepted me

as a student capable of learning.

I was not even dismissed
from physical education class.

My teacher would say to me,

"Roberta, I need help tidying up
the equipment and games.

Could you help me while your classmates
run around the court?

I helped out, very gladly, full of pride.

When I'd finished, she'd say,

"I want you to walk the last lap
around the court,

and your classmates are waiting for you."

I'd go and do the activity
with my friends,

and I felt part of that group,

part of that class,

and capable of learning.

And what I discovered
in cognitive neuroscience

was that cognitive
neuroplasticity is a process

that happens when a parent
says to their child,

"My child, go try. I know you can do it,"

when a teacher says to a student,

"If you can't do it, ask for help.

I'll help you,"

when a teacher tells the student,

"If you can't do it this way,

there must be another way
that, together, we'll be able to do."

And cognitive neuroscience has shown

that the positive expectations
a parent passes onto their child

about their capacity
to overcome challenges

changes their brain physically.

The positive expectation
that you, teachers,

pass onto your students every day

is what your students will carry with them
for the rest of their lives.

Much more than the content
you need to teach them,

they need you to show
that you believe they are capable,

and together you will find the way

so that each one
can learn at their own pace

and develop to their maximum potential.

So, the answer that I searched out
in so many different countries

had already been given to me,

had already been brought to me
by a bricklayer and a housewife -

a bricklayer who studied
up to the third grade in school

and my mother who studied
up to the fifth grade -

and the teachers who had never
even heard of inclusion

but really turned me
into the mother that I am today,

the teacher I've been all my life,

the professional I managed to be,

and this person that today

humbly comes to thank
all the parents and teachers

who are really capable
of bringing about a change in education

so that the students really discover
the pleasure of learning.

Thank you.

(Applause)