A Long Way to Go...

Past two weeks have been exceptionally tough. As I alluded to in my previous post, I have been the target of unfounded fear and hatred by a few select people. Those select people are in positions of power... and it's not ironic that they belong to the so-called dominant culture (mostly male/white/affluent).

I should have gotten a clue early on in the school year when an "anonymous" person complained that I was "pushing a homosexual agenda in the classroom because I had gay posters all over the walls." This comment made its way to my department head, who defended me that indeed I did not. Comically, the only poster I can imagine the person referred to was the "Safe Zone" poster I put up from the Gay, Lesbian, Straight Educator's Network (GLSEN).

But this week, the hatred reached a new low. I was referred to as a pedophile by a school board member. Never could I imagine this kind of insult being hurled in my direction. Unthinkable. This type of hate speech I liken to using the word "bomb" while going through airport security. It's incendiary.

This inflammatory accusation combined with being forced to adhere to rules that were made up just for me--no one else had to follow them--and we really do have a classic, textbook case of institutionalized, systematic discrimination. The truly sad part about all of this is that my students have had a front row seat to everything. None of them ever thought twice about my sexual orientation or gender expression, because it never mattered. It was never an issue in the classroom; therefore, they never cared. All of the hateful words and treatment have been perpetrated by the adults, adults... other teachers and even those in administration.

So, I'm left thinking--do I get a lawyer or just move on. When will we get a fair chance? When will be accepted? When will we stop being the target of people's hatred and prejudice?

I Know What It's Like...

This past week has been exceptionally difficult for me. I came face to face with institutionalized, systematic discrimination, and my heart is breaking. Don't get me wrong, I've endured hatred and homophobia from people my entire life, so I have developed thick skin out of necessity. For the most part, I just take it and keep driving forward. Ugliness like this says more about the individuals perpetrating it than it says about me personally.

But this past week revealed something more sinister to me. You see, I knew the issue of being gay/being transgendered would not be a big deal to my students, and it hasn't. Youth have a tendency to judge you based on how you treat them. If you treat them like they matter, if you treat them fairly, if you demonstrate a genuine ethic of care about them and their learning---well, they grow to trust and respect you very quickly. But I never expected my own administration to behave the way they have, and sadly, much of it surfaced this past week.

I discovered that about a month ago, several of my students were pulled out of class (individually) and asked several questions about me. I'll refrain from divulging details at this point, but I think you can imagine where this leads. In addition to these private interrogations about me, I also experienced this past week being forced to fulfill special requirements that only apply to me. Requirements that other teachers do not and have not been subjected to fulfill.

My friends, this is what institutionalized, systematic discrimination looks like; this is what it feels like. I have been judged based on other peoples' fears and prejudices (which gain momentum as more join in), rather than by my academic and professional accomplishments. This is a nasty, ugly business, and ultimately, our students pay the consequences, many of which reverberate and last a lifetime.

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Moments We Live For

Despite all the recent interruptions in classroom time throughout the past month, my students have risen to the challenge of writing poetry. For the most part, the majority of my students are a pretty rough crowd. Many are four to five reading levels below their grade level, and as with any given classroom across the U.S., some have motivation and behavioral issues. We've come a long way since the beginning of the year.

Because of NWEA, SBA, Shattered Lives: Every 15 Minutes, and several other scheduling dilemmas that take us out of class, I was told to cut short my poetry unit, which broke my heart since it's my favorite genre. Originally, we were to cover a wide variety of time periods and poets, but given my new directive, I decided to chance it... we would do slam poetry.

We now have two original poems under our belts, and my students blew me away. While still learning about the technical aspects of poetry, many have managed to really master rhyme and rhythm beyond my expectations. Frankly, some of them have the gift. I now realize that they've been holding out on me in their previous writings.

Here's what I think is the difference: I gave them complete freedom to express themselves in these poems--and boy, did they. Some wrote about sex, drugs, and yes rock/rap and rollin. Some wrote about their pain... with the depths of wise old souls. And some wrote about nostalgia as if they've lived to ripe old ages. I have been humbled and amazed all at once. I'm also grateful... grateful that we have bonded on an entirely new level. A couple of them even memorialized me--me--in their poems.

These are the moments we live for. This is why I teach.

Storybird:

Storybird: Adventures of Crazy Cat Lady