Me Getting Owned By Children

I used to work summers as a camp counselor. The kids were 6 or 7. I supervised a small group of them.

Once, we all had a question about Japan. One of the kids in our group was Japanese, so I asked him. He said, “I’m Chinese, not Japanese.” “Wow,” I thought, “my bad”. Huge faux pas. I made a note not to do it again and awkwardly shuffled away.

Later, I met his mom. She told me they were Japanese. When I asked him about this, he just laughed at me.

A lot of working with boys this age is the logistics of not peeing your pants. Not “the logistics of how to use a bathroom”, but specifically “the logistics of when and why you can pee your pants.” As an adult, you may know that this is never an acceptable course of action. It’s not something on the roster of potential choices available to you. Evidentially this is not the case in the mind of a 6 year old boy.

For example, once we were playing dodgeball. I look over at a kid, Aaron - and he’s picked up a ball. He’s searching for a potential target. Like a predator, I can see his eyes survey the gym horizon - then, he pauses for a second, pees his pants, and continues his hunt.

I call him over. I explain that, no big deal, now we have to change his clothes. Along the way, I ask him: “So, what happened back there?”. He tells me, “Well, I had to pee. I looked for you, I couldn’t find you, so I just peed my pants.”

To him, it was that simple: where’s the guy that takes me to the bathroom? He’s not right here. Well, I’ll just pee my pants.

Fascinating creatures.

There was also no understanding of the potential consequences here. I had him change into his bathing suit. On the way back, he turns to me and says, “Counselor Owen (no idea why they called me this, I asked them to stop and they never did) - when they see me in my bathing suit, they’re going to know I peed my pants.”

Well, yeah. Yeah, they are going to know that. So, here I am, explaining what the second-order consequences are for peeing your pants to a small man who only has a tenuous grip on both time and physical reality. This is what is referred to as “the true philosophy”.

I included the above tale to give you a window into the mindset of a 6 year old boy, in this place and time.

Dodgeball, as you may imagine, was the most popular thing for us to do. This camp was free, so most other activities ultimately amounted to just being somewhere - until I could take them to the gym and let them throw rubber balls at each other.

You may have heard that children thrive on a schedule and routine. Well, every few hours, whoever was in charge would just find me and tell me to take the kids to the next place, which was essentially chosen at random - possibly via spinning a large wheel, or some form of animal entrail divination. I would then announce this next location to the kids, much to their delight (if it was dodgeball) or chagrin (if it was anything other than dodgeball).

Well, once, I announced we were going to the next place. It was not dodgeball. One kid comes up to me and informs me he would like to go to dodgeball.

“Me too,” was basically my response. “But, I have no control over that.”

He grew increasingly irate - furious - that I would deny him dodgeball. I imagine that if he were a larger man, and it was somewhere in Europe in the 1300s, he might have simply slain me right there, leaving me to die between the hot unmown grass and the asphalt.

Finally, he’s just staring at me, a being of pure rage - as the ancients might say, anger “came over” him - he became anger itself: and he pees his pants. This was, once again, a completely volitional act. It was not an accident. It was an act of aggression. He peed his pants out of anger - at me. The hostility was directed at me and took the form of him peeing his pants.

My wife’s friend has a kid. He’s three or four. I’m meeting him for the first time at this street fair. The other parents are all getting food, so it’s just me and him.

Me: So… do you have any pets?
Him: Yes. His name is Rex.

Perfect. This is a standard way for me to get in with a kid.

Me: Is Rex a dog?
Him: No.
Me: A cat?
Him: No.

Okay. Now this is interesting. Bird? No. Oh, I got it. You have a fish. Is he a fish?

No.

Now I’m locked in. What animal does this kid have? Oh, maybe your dad keeps reptiles. Lizard? No. Turtle? No. …Frog? No.

The other parents have been getting food. There’s a long line. A long time has already passed. But I’m on a quest now. I am totally absorbed into deducing what weird animal this kid has.

Is he rich? I don’t think so. “Is Rex a horse?” “No.” What else is there? Monkey? Do you have a monkey at your house?

No.

So now I’m just sitting there, staring off with this three-year-old, who I don’t really know yet - completely vexed. Snake? No. Rabbit? No. Does your dad keep moles or something? Mole? No. …Octopus? No. Clam? Does your dad keep some kind of clam in a tank at your house?

“No.”

His mom walks back over with food. I say, “Hey, he’s telling me about Rex.”

And she says: “Oh. Yeah, Rex is our dog.”

The images I used here are images of children from 12 century AD - 7th century BC China, I just made them blue to fit the vibe. You can see them here, here, here, and here.