By Stephen C. Schultz
The sun was shining through the limbs of the great Douglas fir trees. Morning was in the air, and a cool breeze carried the fresh scent of dew across the field. Fall was beginning to make its presence known.
As I stood there taking it all in, I found myself thinking about a recent experience that was shared with me involving a second grader, his teacher, and his parents.
It was a simple story, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized there was something important in it. Sometimes the smallest moments in a child's life can remind us of something we adults too easily forget: children are still becoming who they are.
The teacher had reached out to the boy's mother the day before and asked if she and her husband could meet with her briefly the following day. She assured her that it wasn't an emergency, but there were a few things she wanted to discuss.
The next day, both parents arrived at the agreed upon time, and their son came with them.
The young teacher greeted the family warmly and invited them to sit down. She began by expressing her gratitude to the parents and telling them what a joy it was to have their son in her classroom.
Then she turned to a part of the school day devoted to art.
She had noticed that during art time, their son seemed to consistently draw dark pictures. More specifically, she had noticed that he seemed to gravitate toward using black crayons.
The teacher gently asked whether there might be something happening at home that could be concerning their son. Was there a stressor she should know about? Was there something going on that might help her better understand him or provide additional support at school?
The parents looked at one another. Neither could think of anything that seemed concerning.
Then the father turned to his son.
"Are you using black crayons in your artwork?"
"Yes," the boy replied.
The father glanced toward the teacher and said, "Maybe we should ask him why."
He turned back to his son.
"Can you tell us why you like drawing everything in black? It's okay to tell us if something is bothering you. We're all here because we care about you and want to support you in your learning."
The boy looked at his mother, then his father, and finally at his teacher.
He crinkled his nose for a moment and then, almost matter of factly, said:
"Our last name starts with a Y. When it's time for art, we all sit at the table in alphabetical order. The box of crayons gets passed around, starting with the kids whose last names start with A. By the time it gets to me, all that's left are black crayons."
And there it was.
The mystery was solved.
There was no hidden darkness. No troubling family circumstance. No emotional crisis waiting to be uncovered.
There was simply a second grader whose last name started with Y.
I couldn't help but smile when I heard the story. But I also found myself thinking about how easily we can do this in our relationships with children. We see something that doesn't fit our expectations, and almost immediately we begin looking for an explanation.
Sometimes there is one.
Sometimes there isn't.
The teacher in this story did something important. She noticed. She cared. She didn't ignore what she was seeing. But, more importantly, she asked before she assumed.
That distinction matters.
Children communicate in ways that are sometimes difficult for adults to understand. A change in behavior can be a signal that something is wrong, but it can also be development, personality, circumstance, experimentation, immaturity, or something as simple as being the kid with a last name that starts with Y.
As adults, our responsibility isn't to ignore what we see. It is to become curious about it.
Before we attach a meaning to a child's behavior, perhaps we should ask a question. Before we decide what a behavior says about a child, perhaps we should give the child an opportunity to tell us what it means to them.
Sometimes we will discover something that needs our attention.
And sometimes we will discover that the black crayon was simply the one that was left in the box.
Perhaps there is a lesson in that for all of us. Children are still writing their stories. We should be careful not to decide what a chapter means before we've given them the opportunity to tell us the story themselves.
And maybe, every now and then, we should remember to ask a second grader why he's using the black crayon before we start trying to figure out what the black crayon means.
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