In my class we have a worm day. If they promise to be gentle and not tug, they can hold one of those beautiful squiggly caretakers of dirt. The wonder they have for it is so real - and I say, did you know they have 5 hearts and love you with all of them. Then I say, âare you holding a boy worm or a girl wormâ and they guess. They are all right, and they are all wrong, because worms are both. And I say that. I say, âthey are just like people; sometimes not a boy or a girl but something in between, or sometimes theyâre both on different days. And they still love you with all 5 hearts.â
âCool,â says one kid. âI donât want to be a boy, I want to be a girl sometimes.â And I say okay.
Children are taught fear. They are taught that the worms are gross. It isnât until theyâre a few years older than my class - up in 3rd or 4th grade - that they start shrieking at my little worm friends. They wonât play the silly games or sing the silly songs or even promise not to tug. A fourth grader hears my lesson about gender and says, âThatâs so weird,â and suddenly I hear from the mouths of these beautiful children, âYeah,â âthis is weird,â âNo, mine is a girl.â
It is not the 4th grader I blame. It is the person in her life that saw something beautiful and ruined it for her. It is the âput that down, itâs gross,â âyou donât want to get dirtyâ âthereâs us and thereâs them.â I want to show her - without the humble little blind noses of worms, we are nothing. We need them. Did you know if they grow a belt theyâre over a year old! Spent tunnelling through the secrets of roots. I want to show her: itâs okay if tomorrow you feel like a boy or maybe something neither, something different that is entirely you.
But fear, once discovered, is not an easy stain to get out. We say, âWhat will we tell the childrenâ and forget - the children already heard. They heard you snickering about the person down the street. They saw you talking to your friend about âthose peopleâ. And they internalize it, burrow it into them. We donât tell the children, we model hatred until the children canât hear you, canât hear you declare, âdo as I say, not as I do.â
Later the 4th grader goes home. âUgh,â her mother says with a shudder, seeing my box, âI hate worms.â
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