Reusing the Toilet Paper: The Mess We Make When We Assume Prior Knowledge

Several months ago, our family took a trip to St. Louis. We stayed in a magical historic home in a small town on the outskirts of the city. All of us were excited to explore the nooks and crannies of the old house, but our two foster boys (ages 8 and 10) were totally floored by everything they saw. The younger buddy had been counting down the days until the trip. Then the hours. Then the minutes until we arrived. He made no attempt to contain his joy. These are the moments when the hard experiences of foster parenting pay you back. Watching the littles enjoy special things never gets old.

That evening, our little buddy was first in line for the shower. He bounded down the stairs a few minutes later and squish, squish, squished to the kitchen. He and his pajamas were soaking wet.

Mother: “Whoa, friend! Did you forget the part where you dry off before you put pajamas on?”

Little Buddy: “Well, um, uh…I think we must have forgotten to pack the towels.”

Just then, our daughter discovered something upstairs.

Teenager, laughing: “What in the world?! [Little Buddy], did you use toilet paper to dry your body?”

He froze, wide-eyed, and I instantly realized what had happened.

This little soul had no idea that there were towels in the cabinet of that bathroom. Why would he? When had he ever visited a vacation rental?

No, he had stepped out of the shower, realized there were no towels, and improvised. He patted himself with about half a roll of toilet paper. Then he hung the long strips of half-disintegrated tissue neatly across the towel rack.

Was this ridiculous? I don’t think it was, actually. This was a little boy’s attempt to meet the cultural expectation of hanging a towel after you use it.

And why had he done that?

Because I had assumed something to be obvious which was really a learned skill. I silenced my daughter with a look. Then I apologized.

Mother: “Friend, I’m sorry I forgot to tell you. When we rent a house, it almost always has the important things we need. There are even pots, pans, spoons, and forks in the kitchen. Would you like to see them?”

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Today I’m thinking of the many ways we create conflict, frustration, and embarrassment when we assume that other people know all the things that we know.

It happens in the classroom. When I was a novice teacher, there were times when the entire class struggled to complete a learning task. In those days, my knee-jerk reaction was frustration with the kids. These days, I know that when many of the students are confused or behind, I should look in the mirror. My post-lesson reflection usually points to some missing skill that I was counting on when I crafted the lesson.

It can easily happen in a real estate transaction if I assume that a client understands verbiage like “earnest money,” “inspection resolution,” or “closing costs.”

At church, it happens when we use theological terms and Christian cultural phrases without defining them.

I was on the receiving end last year when I talked with my orthopedic surgeon about the expectations after a complicated surgery. He told me I’d be non-weight bearing for six weeks (it was actually seven, sigh). Guided by my Type A tendencies and zero experience with this type of recovery, I counted six weeks from the surgery day, circled the next date on my calendar, and wrote “Resume Normal Life!!” If you’ve never been non-weight bearing for six weeks, let me fill you in: that’s not how it goes. Not at all. On a related note, make every effort to injure your non-driving leg, given the choice. You can thank me later.

When I am unconsciously shaped by the belief that my background and experiences are “normal,” I’m easily offended by the words and actions of others. It all feels both personal and purposeful, when the truth could be that it never occurred to them that anyone would be offended. They did [insert objectionable thing here] at ME, on PURPOSE, as HARD AS THEY COULD. This concept was first shared with me by a dear friend and counselor at our church in Arkansas, and it’s become a family joke. “She ate the last Oreo…at me…as hard as she could…”

Now, as Maya Angelou said, once we know better, we ought to do better. But it’s simply a mistake to assume that everyone we meet “knows better.” Certainly, this understanding has shaped our family’s approach to foster parenting. Every child we welcome into our home has a past that doesn’t include us. WE are the ones who lack knowledge. Unless and until they choose to tell us, we can’t really know what they experienced before they drifted into our lives.

Even if your life has been pretty light on trauma, the lack of prior knowledge is a major reason it can feel so overwhelming when you move to a new place. When we arrived in our current city, I was blessed to receive some explicit instruction from the natives; therefore, I was ready with my quarter the first time I shopped at Aldi. Crisis averted.

Juggling armloads of remarkably cheap groceries because you didn’t have a quarter for the cart is harmless enough. But what about the times when that thing you didn’t know makes you feel isolated? Or embarrassed? Or stupid?

We are back in St. Louis this week with our foster boys. This time, I was sure to point out where everything is—especially the towels.