Unmet Expectations – Why are They so Mean?

The peaceful, tree lined street looked like something from a Norman Rockwell painting. Not surprising for an early fall day in 1961 in the upper Midwest.  In those days it wasn’t unusual for a third grader to walk to school on his own. After all, the walk wasn’t five miles up hill in both directions in the snow, but only a few short blocks in a safe, middle class neighborhood. But was it safe? From adult predators certainly, but from fellow classmates? Maybe not so much. Relationships between third graders in any generation could be difficult, and that was the case for the third grader making his way to school that day so long ago. Dillon was a little small for his age. His ears stuck out from the side of his head in such a way that everyone noticed – especially other kids who, early on, began to call him “Dumbo,” after the erstwhile Disney elephant ridiculed for his large ears. Growing up in a military family, Dillon would eventually attend thirteen schools in twelve years, making him no stranger to changing circumstances in life. Sometimes he felt relief when he changed states, or even countries. These were opportunities to start over in a new place where nobody knew him, though, he would tell you, he never fit in no matter where those changing circumstances led. He never quite knew what to expect from the people around him in all these different locations. He wasn’t even sure what his own parents expected beyond the usual comment from his father. “Dillon, you’re a good boy, when you’re asleep.” His parents loved him, but they were never good at communicating what being a good boy looked like.

     Back in the early 60s, it was still expected that your mother was likely a stay at home mom who would fix your lunch and let you carry it to school in a brown paper sack. That day, the boy’s lunch consisted of a bologna sandwich, and a little bag of Frito’s. He also carried a modest sum of change to buy some chocolate milk, his favorite. On this particular morning, the weather was beautiful, with just a nip of an early fall in the air, and Dillon was indeed carrying his lunch to school in a paper sack. As he walked alone down that tree-lined street on a pristine sidewalk, he caught up with two other boys from his class, also headed to the school. Keeping his head down, the smallish nine-year-old tried to push his way past the two boys who towered over him. But his way remained blocked and Dillon became increasingly flustered when they wouldn’t move out of the way. Suddenly, one of the boys simply stopped in his tracks and smirked.

     “You wanna’ get by? It’s gonna cost you! Give me your lunch money! And I want your lunch too!”

Head down, and with a good bit of reluctance, Dillon surrendered both his lunch money and his lunch to the bully standing before him. That scenario has played itself out an untold number of times in an untold number of schools – but it was what happened next that would etch an unforgettable memory on the young boy’s brain.

     The bully pocketed the change, and then, laughing with his buddy, he peered into the lunch bag. Apparently not liking what he saw, he threw the lunch on the ground, and the two bullies stomped the bologna and the Frito’s flat! Racing home to his mother, through tears, the little third grader sobbed to his Mom one simple question: “Mom, why are they so mean?” Lurking somewhere in the back of his mind, or some deep recess inside, Dillon was asking himself,

     “What did I do wrong, or what is wrong with me that made those guys do such a thing?”  That he had done something he shouldn’t have was an easy conclusion to make because he had no idea what these boys expected of him, and even if he would have known, he was sure he was the one failing. Did those boys expect to feel superior by picking on someone smaller and less sure of himself?  Was Dillon even old enough to understand expectations? Surely not consciously. But deep inside the feelings of inadequacy overwhelmed him. Could he have expected those boys to treat him with respect? Or maybe his only true expectation was to get by and be left alone as he tried to fit into the fifth school he had attended in three years. Such was the life of a ‘military brat.’

     His mother was furious, and though he didn’t find out till years later, she had marched down to where those two brothers lived, and defended her backward, shy son. She never did explain why she didn’t tell him that very day that she had confronted the parents. Perhaps she wanted Dillon to learn to stand up for himself and not to feel so powerless that he had to have his mother defend him in the future. For his part, all the boy knew was that he was feeling rejected and ashamed and had no earthly idea why. Expectations are often moving targets that parents assume their kids understand even when those expectations are not directly communicated. Years later, thinking about this still brings up painful feelings, and more questions than answers. But those feelings paled in comparison with what that young man experienced three years later.

II

     In the sixth grade, Dillon attended a Department of Defense (DOD) school in a European city where his Dad was stationed with the Air Force. The family lived on the economy, which meant, off base.  Dillon and his younger sister rode a blue Air Force bus to school. It took about forty-five minutes to pick up everyone, and lots of shenanigans took place on that bus with every seat spoken for by the time the bus rolled into the school’s parking lot. Dillon once had to be carried off the bus by the bus driver in front of the whole school after severely straining his ankle while horsing around on the bus. Dillon’s dad was furious, and disappointed – at least that’s how Dillon saw it at the time. Just another unmet expectation.

     Like many kids of just about every generation, Dillon heard often from his parents and teachers that he was not living up to his potential. Expectations for success in school were high even back then. The boy was considered a lazy student. Of course, back in the early 1960s, a teacher’s attempts at motivation were not all sweetness and light as he tried to drag his charges forward to meet their expected potential. To be charitable, Dillon’s teacher was simply trying to motivate him the best way he knew how. But the attempt turned out to be an unforgettable crucible for a sixth grader. As a bit of a lazy student, Dillon’s grades suffered somewhat. At one point early in the school year, his teacher announced to the class that he was creating a special row for the underachievers in the class, and that he was naming it, “DILLON’S ROW.” Dillon was seated in the first desk, at the head of the row that bore his name. One would assume that those relegated to this row were expected to improve their grades and eventually transfer out of the row. Accepting the challenge, over the next nine weeks Dillon’s grades improved to the point that the teacher decided he was to be moved out of Dillon’s row. In his heart, Dillon’s expectations were clear enough, even for a twelve-year-old. Now was the time for praise! Now was the time for success! Now was the time for encouragement and for motivational magic! But that’s not what happened. 

     Once again, Dillon was not exactly sure what this teacher was trying to accomplish (what he expected), but when he moved him out of the row, the teacher exclaimed loudly to all in ear shot, “I am moving Dillon out of Dillon’s Row, but I want everyone to know that it will still be known as Dillon’s Row for the rest of the school year in honor of it’s founder.” For many years when he would tell that story, Dillon would get choked up and have to hold back the tears, pondering again that simple question – “why was he so mean?” And that thought, both then and years later, was soon followed by personal doubts. “What was wrong with me that caused that teacher to do that?” Of course, by the time he was twelve, what did Dillon really expect anyway? No one was going to appreciate or encourage him because he didn’t deserve to be appreciated or encouraged. He failed, and failed, and failed to measure up, again, and again, and again, even though he managed to score the highest in the class on the standardized tests that year in reading and writing. When the teacher announced the results to the class, he said,

     “You will never guess who scored the highest in reading and reading comprehension, and writing; it was Dillon. Of course, he was also the only one who left the ‘r’ out of the word ‘country’ on his last spelling test.”

     “Mom, why is he so mean? What have I done that was bad, and what’s wrong with me?” Like many others, Dillon continues to struggle with shame and humiliation, especially when he knows he has failed to meet expectations others have for him. Could such incidents as these have some bearing on that struggle, and could it be that people’s experiences formed at an early age do indeed impact the kinds of attitudes they express later in life in response to the expectations put before them? And might those attitudes involve both met and unmet expectations?

This is a blog about the consequences of unmet expectations, both those of other people and those unmet expectations we have for ourselves. I will use personal stories to illustrate the attitudes and consequences created by not measuring up.