By Dr. Onnie Poe
I came to believe years ago that behavior is a language. Across more than sixteen years in classrooms, counseling spaces, community programs, and my own home as the mother of three Black children, I have watched young people communicate long before they had the words, or felt safe enough, to explain what was happening inside them. I have seen fear disguised as defiance, embarrassment hidden behind disruption, grief expressed through anger, and overwhelm mistaken for disrespect.
Still, when a Black child’s behavior becomes difficult, adults often rush to ask, “What consequence does this deserve?” before asking, “What is this child trying to communicate?”
That order matters. Black children do not always receive the benefit of curiosity. Their frustration may be interpreted as aggression. Their confidence may be labeled defiance. Their silence may be mistaken for indifference, and their attempts to protect themselves may be treated as deliberate disobedience. We respond to what they did without considering what may have happened to them, what they are carrying, or what need they do not yet know how to express.
The consequences are not merely emotional. They are measurable. A U.S. Government Accountability Office analysis found that Black students represented only 15.5 percent of public-school students but approximately 39 percent of students suspended from school. More recently, the GAO reported that Black girls received harsher discipline than White girls for similar behaviors, including defiance, disrespect, and disruption.
These disparities should force us to examine more than children’s behavior. They should compel us to examine adult interpretation. When we see only misbehavior, we reduce a child to the most inconvenient thing they did in a difficult moment. We may never discover that the child who refused to read aloud was trying to hide a reading difficulty, that the student sleeping in class had not felt safe enough to sleep at home, or that the child who appears not to care has learned that pretending not to care hurts less than trying and failing publicly.
Behavior is not always a confession, but it is always information. As a Black mother, I understand the instinct to prepare our children for a world that may not extend grace to them. We teach them to be respectful, control their emotions, follow directions, and avoid behavior that others could misinterpret. Those lessons often come from love and protection. We know the stakes can be higher for our children.
But in preparing Black children to survive other people’s assumptions, we must be careful not to reproduce those assumptions inside our homes, classrooms, and communities. Our children should not have to perform perfect composure to be considered worthy of compassion. They should not have to explain their pain eloquently before an adult decides it is real.
This does not mean harmful behavior should be ignored. Seeing behavior as language is not the same as excusing it. Children need boundaries, accountability, and opportunities to repair harm. But accountability and understanding are not opposites. Consequences are more meaningful when they teach children what to do differently while helping them understand what drove the behavior in the first place.
Some will argue that adults do not have time to investigate the meaning behind every outburst or refusal. Parents are tired. Teachers are managing full classrooms. Youth-serving professionals are often working within systems that prioritize control and compliance. Those realities are valid. But asking one additional question can change the direction of an encounter: “What might this behavior be communicating?”
That pause can be the difference between intervention and escalation. It can reveal whether a child needs correction, instruction, reassurance, rest, evaluation, or simply a safe opportunity to tell the truth.
We must become more fluent in the language of behavior as educators, professionals, parents, relatives, mentors, coaches, faith leaders, and neighbors. Before assigning intent, we can get curious. Before demanding an explanation, we can create safety. Before deciding that a child is disrespectful, lazy, manipulative, or “bad,” we can ask what story we may be missing.
The next time a Black child’s behavior challenges us, let us address what happened, but refuse to stop there. Let us look beyond the disruption for the unmet need, the unspoken fear, the missing skill, or the pain beneath it. Ask the child, “Help me understand what was happening for you.” Then listen long enough for the answer.
Our children are always communicating. The question is whether we are willing to listen before the world teaches them that silence is safer.
comments +