Have you seen those wild life specials where a group of congregating chimpanzees are screaming, slapping their hands above their heads? Sometimes I have a sneaking suspicion they have their own language that we don’t know about. Anyways, that’s another post.

Animal behavior often explains some of the odd things, sometimes called sins, that we humans portray.

When a father kills his wive and children, when a woman cheats on her man, when a boy goes to strange lengths to show a fifth grade girl he likes her can come from animalistic behavior. Thanks, Darwin.

We see all of this in the animal world.

Today I was eating at a ramen house and saw a group of young Asian boys hanging outside. One of them wore his sunglasses backwards, shading the back if his neck from the hot afternoon sun. He must have said something funny. Because one of his friends started laughing, screaming almost, slapping his hands together above his head. Sound familiar?

Is this important in story telling?

In my currentEpisode,my character is faced with an opportunity to prove his innocence. He has a choice. Prove it with dignity or with violence. Why the two opposite choices? If you’vereadwhat he’s been through, then you’ll undersand why he could choose violence.

Sometimes in life we don’t see how our behaviors can originate from our innate animal behavior.  If we are closest to our chimpanzee cousins, then how can we deny the strange behavior that some people exhibit?  Do I agree with it?  Not all the time.  But as story tellers, we should allow for some raucous action.

One that comes to mind is Hermione punching Draco in the nose in the third Potter book.  I thought that scene was right on.  A bigoist taunting someone should get their nose punched in.  Not because it was right.  Because that kind of behavior would elicit another.  Cause and effect.

I once had a student who was constantly bullied by another boy who didn’t respect my student’s ethnic heritage.  The bully called him obscene names.  My student asked him to stop and even avoided him.  But the bully looked for him like  a shark.  Heckling my student.  Barraging him with physical threats.  So my studentslappedhim.  Hard.

That bully never bullied him again.

The alpha male was now replaced by another.

One day two ants carried their loads on their backs. These were regular ants that you’d find on your kitchen table, coming from an unseen opening in the wall. On their backs, they carried a dead bug, their golden meal ticket. The dead bugs were at least three times their size, massive. Going with the flow of thousands of others, they lugged the prize. One seemed to have a red tinge on the black-shelled body. The other ant was as black as deep night. Both seemed to race each other toward the main entrance of the ant hill.

The black one tripped the red one. The red ant dropped it’s meal. With no thought of revenge, it picked up the dead bug and continued on its way. The flow of ants out of the hill slowed the black one, allowing red to catch up.

The stream of incoming ants intersected into its path. Both had to climb above, then around, then pushed their way toward the main entrance of the ant hill. First black was ahead. Then red budged its way first. A wind blew, forcing both to drop their treasured meal. They scrambled to reclaim their packages.

Again, both trudged on, racing their way into the cavernous entrance. Once they entered, the tunnels narrowed, and the massive dead bugs scraped against the ceiling. It was loud and the sound of trains leaving and entering the tunnels blared. The ants lowered the weight right on their backs, making the trip through the tunnels harder. Thousands of others traveled up. Foot steps vibrated the floors. Black pushed through, passing red. Red was pummeled back, but it climbed above the others and flew by black. The trip made harder when the tunnels angled up. Each stair was taken one step at a time.

The opening came into view. A bright light shined down. The blue sky marked the finish line. Red made a push to pass the black ant. Black shove the red against the railing. Red grasped its prize and pulled itself up, digging its feet down and plunging forward. The end of the tunnel fast approached. Black and red edged each other, and it was hard to tell who was first. Thousands of ants poured out of the tunnel, and the cold air of their city greeted them. Narrow bands of the blue sky framed by massive sky scrapers. I shifted my backpack on red sweater, walked onto the street, entered my building, and logged on my computer. The day droned on as normal.