Sometimes, There Is No Hidden Meaning

I love to think about the hidden meaning behind certain words or behaviors. Isn’t that the fun of watching crime dramas, to determine who’s lying and why? That’s partly what led me to my majoring in psychology in college. Understanding the impulses and beliefs that drive human behavior was always fascinating to me. Even now, I like to read articles like these about how FBI experts and hostage negotiators offer tips to help you spot a liar. 

But the hidden meaning behind one’s behavior isn’t always about lying. Sometimes it’s about uncovering the motivation behind the behavior — why one acted out in a certain way. 

I graduated a semester early from college but stayed on campus and worked. One of my roommates and I had a band — “2 girls, 2 guitars, $2” was our slogan — and we played out in the bars or fraternity/sorority parties several times a week. Since we wouldn’t get home from those gigs until very late (like 1 or 2a.m.), I looked for a job that wouldn’t require early morning hours.

I found the perfect gig, working in after-school care at an elementary school about 30 minutes outside of Chapel Hill. It was a beautiful, brand new school, and even the drive out there was lovely. Sometimes I’d stop by the Fearrington House, a luxury bed and breakfast, and stare at the belted cows.

How I loved this job, although it was exhausting. It surprised me that instead of the kids being tired and worn out from their school day, they kicked into overdrive, as if an extra battery started up — they were ready for the party. 

And party we did.

Sometimes I brought my guitar and led a singalong (crowd favorite was The Lion Sleeps Tonight) as the kids howled out the “o-wi-mo-weh” sounds. One time I supervised finger painting with chocolate pudding. No young Picasso was discovered, but a lot of “paint” was ingested. Some lessons I learned the hard way, like you can’t let Karen start braiding your hair during storytime, or all the girls will want to do it and no one will listen to the story. Another rough lesson was the day we celebrated the beloved book Green Eggs and Ham. We had a little griddle and actually cooked green eggs and ham. I don’t know if it was just the look of it or the smell or what, but I had to excuse myself and leave my coworker to supervise the kids as I made a beeline for the restroom.

The kids were a happy, lively group. Sure, some of them got a little rowdy every now and then, but once they did a “time out,” they would usually come back to the group activity with a calmer demeanor. I loved being there, being around them all — I thought their games were so funny. On the playground, a group of boys loved acting out Walker, Texas Ranger, a show I still haven’t seen to this day. Yes, I really liked all the kids, but I soon realized I had a favorite: a bright-eyed, first-grader named Davie.

Davie was my sidekick.

He was right there in front of me when I led storytime, quick to answer questions like “who thinks the Bear is in the next picture?” A little messy, with grape mustache many days, he liked to be first in line right behind me when we walked through the halls. If we were doing arts and crafts, he didn’t throw glitter around just for the heck of it like some of his rambunctious peers.

In fact, when the others would do some shenanigans, Davie would look at me, with the eyes of an old soul, almost as if he were silently communicating, “What are we gonna do with these hooligans?” And Davie was funny. He had a quick wit for a first-grader. If I were leading a group and he wasn’t there, I’d wonder where he was. Granted, he liked kickball and would sometimes sign up to do that. Nobody wants me leading any ball sports.

So everything was going along quite smoothly. It was spring, and you could taste the change in the air.

We were happy not to have to pile on thick coats for playground time. One day, I was in charge of taking a group of boys to the restroom before we headed outside. I waited in the hallway for a while and no children had come out. I decided to knock, and no kids. Not much time had elapsed — 3 minutes, maybe? Finally, I cracked the door a bit and called out, “Boys?” Laughter echoed. So I cracked the door open a bit more. And that’s when I saw the mayhem.

It was a winter wonderland in there, wet toilet paper was strung all over the place. It was swinging from the bathroom doors, it was strewn all over the floor.  The boys were cackling in hysterics. One projectile roll was flying right at me.

In the midst of it was Davie.

Yes, my sweet, smart, bright sidekick was yucking it up big time in the boys’ bathroom, throwing toilet paper like beads at Mardi Gras. About that time, my boss came circling around to see what the holdup was. She was not happy. We got the kids to hurry on outside for recess time.

Once we were out there, I couldn’t help pulling Davie aside and talking to him. What in the world, I wondered, must have happened that he felt compelled to take part in such a thing? From the others, I wasn’t shocked to see it. But from Davie? My psychology degree was lighting up all kinds of brain synapses. There must be some hidden meaning behind all this. What was truly going on in Davie’s world? 

My chat with Davie went like many talks I’d have with boys and men in the future. A shoulder shrug here, a shuffling of the feet there. Davie stared down at the ground for a while. Then he stared off at the swings. I was proud of my casual tone. “Hey – I was just surprised to see you taking part in something like that. Because you’d never done anything like that before.” Davie looked at me, then back at the swings. We carried on like this for a few minutes. “Can I go swing now?” he asked. “Sure, run along,” I said. 

My boss seemed unfazed by the whole thing when I talked to her about it later. It wasn’t her first rodeo. It was a real learning lesson for me, but I don’t think I got the lesson, at least not really, until years later when I had boys of my own. 

Because what I learned is, sometimes there is no deeper hidden meaning. 

Sometimes when young boys are left unattended in a bathroom, there is going to be a certain amount of hijinks. It’s a law of nature. It’s like that fable, the scorpion and the frog. The scorpion asks the frog for a ride across the river, but the frog is worried about being stung. The scorpion responds that if he stings the frog, they both would drown. But then as they cross the river, the scorpion does indeed sting the frog. When the frog is incredulous, the scorpion tells the frog, “it’s my nature.”

So, as you go throughout your day, and you interact with others, what kind of hidden meanings are you looking for behind what people say and do? Or maybe there is no deeper root cause of behavior other than it’s simply someone’s nature. I look back at my 22-year old self, kneeling down on that sunny playground trying to discern the mindset of a child. I was ridiculous. 

How silly was I? Of course on a jolly spring day the boys are going to be a little extra hyper and when one of them starts slinging wet toilet paper around the bathroom (it was probably that menacing Gabe that started it), the others will fall in step like it’s Lord of the Flies in there. That’s a simple fact of nature, young boys’ nature. 

To Davie, wherever you are, I’m sorry I singled you out on the playground.

And I hope you learned to reign it in when Gabe or your other hooligan buddies went wild. You might have boys of your own by now, and if so, you’ve figured out that sometimes, despite your best guidance and even in spite of their best intentions, bad or surprising behaviors will surface. You don’t have to pull out your Freud textbook. Sometimes there’s no hidden cause or meaning. Sometimes it’s a spring day and a lot of energy needs to let loose.

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For another post about handling kids, see How To Survive A Road Trip Without Losing Your Marbles.

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