once i babysat
for a young girl in my hometown.
she was intrepid, fearless,
kind.
she asked,
over a coffee table strewn with
crayons and thick drawing paper,
"do you have a boyfriend?"
in truth i responded,
"no, my significant other is a
woman.”
she raised her eyebrows, smiled,
and continued to color outside of the lines.
i said i’d love to watch her again,
that we’d had a great time,
and she wouldn’t let go of my hand
until i pulled myself out the door.
but her mother never called me back.
once i went to work
in a bustling 5th grade classroom in harlem,
age 19, wearing a rainbow pin on my bag.
a female student asked, “doesn’t that pin
mean you’re a lesbian?”
in truth i responded, “it can mean that, yes.
i wear it for a lot of different reasons.”
the girl went home, did her research,
and contacted every preteen in the class
to tell them not only that i was gay,
but that she was, too.
a parent called the school, of course,
demanding my removal.
i spent the next day being defended
by the teacher i aided, as i was
belittled incessantly by
the principal
the vice principal
the nurse
and the school social worker,
all adamant in their own way
that i was causing the student harm
by encouraging her to label herself
with words she didn’t understand.
i did no such thing; the girl had done it
all on her own.
eventually, they accepted that.
but it still meant the principal complained
about having to reassign me to a classroom
with no children who could possibly know
my salacious secret.
because apparently it was too
suggestive for 10-year-olds
who might be looking for a word
to explain what they might already
know about themselves.
and i still hadn’t even told them outright,
that yes, in fact, i was a lesbian.
it was the mere suggestion that sent them
into such a frantic preventative
maelstrom of denial.
i wonder what that taught the girl
about what it means to call herself
anything other than straight.
once i was almost fired from a beloved job
working with bright, impassioned teens,
under the pretenses that
for years i’d been
"coercing students to adopt
my personal views” and
"forcing students to come out"
because i’d helped create a safe space
for the queer kids to discover their meaning
and talk about their lives.
it had lasted happily for three summers
with full support,
until those in charge began to see it
as a liability,
and decided their legal security
against theoretical bigots
was more important than a place for
real, existing people to be with
others like them,
and benefit from oneness.
so silly of me,
to have faith that a place i cherished
would fight for the students who most
craved freedom of expression.
of course i argued, and
everything i’d worked for,
every action i’d taken
that they’d spent the past years condoning
was thrown back at me as
"irresponsible," as "manipulative,"
as “selfish.”
because it’s inconceivable that
i wanted my kids to be happy and proud,
and there was nothing in it for me
besides joy in their phenomenal discourse and
visceral developing confidence.
(“queerness only wants attention.”)
because it makes sense to
encourage a safe space for only so long,
and suddenly pull the plug when it’s
a threat to your corporation’s credentials.
(“queerness isn’t part of the homogenized environment
we wish to cultivate.”)
because it’s so risky, giving teenagers
room to learn their identities
in a positive and embracing way.
(“what if a parent were to contact us
demanding to know why their child is telling them
'i'm gay?'
our youth doesn’t need queerness to thrive.”)
every time i meet the child of a friend
i feel compelled to ask,
"how much am i allowed to say
about the ‘gay thing?’”
because i know from experience
that little ones are curious and open
and some adults would rather
those assets be kept in check
for fear of “harm” or “confusion.”
and i ask you,
what if your child is like me?
what if your child grows up to feel
love for the same gender,
or more than one gender,
or perhaps all genders?
will they have enough hope within them
to speak of their stories with pride?
or will they hate themselves from the inside out,
because they’ve been taught it’s
something scary,
something undiscussed,
something… not “wrong”
but something less-than-right?
how might they see themselves
when you have shown them that a
person like them,
a person who is me,
must be kept ruthlessly gagged
about my reality,
because some undefinable feature
of my sexuality
poses a threat
to your painfully limited
way of living?
how can it be dangerous
to teach a child
that the world is vast
and their life can look like anything
as long as it is healthy and kind?
on the contrary,
i can share with them the knowledge
that love is infinite in its capabilities.
i can show them the safety of self-definition
and solidarity in numbers.
i can remind them what it means to
embrace everything you are,
because one doesn’t have to be
afraid,
or alone,
when one is simply
and quite beautifully
different.
