What Really Matters

I was recently informed that a story I had written as part of an anthology was one of several cut, because the publisher wanted a shorter book, from an upcoming publication on gay teachers. I was disappointed, but hey, what can you do. Perhaps I'll try to publish it somewhere else!?!
But for now, I think it will serve as a good blog article today.


What Really Matters

"Education is the ability to listen to almost anything without losing your temper or your self-confidence."
-- Robert Frost


I reminisce about a particular day during the fall of 2000 frequently. It was typical afternoon for a third year teacher: slightly unorganized and a little unfocused, but, not completely unproductive. Fifth hour had begun, and, like so many other days, the class was trying to persuade me away from the content at hand, ninth grade government. It still being early in the school year, the students and I were still trying to determine just what we could say to one another and still get away with and what went too far On this particular day, the borders of this vaguely defined arena were blown away with one simple exchange.
“Mr. Johnson, are you married?” Aaron asked with such ease, as if it had been the topic of our conversation for hours. “No”, I responded. “Do you have a girlfriend?” he continued. “No”, I responded, feeling slightly nervous now. “You don’t have a girlfriend,” less a question then a statement this time. “No”, I responded, a third time, wishing that he would stop this line of questioning. “Why don’t you have a girlfriend?” he questioned further. “I just don’t, Aaron!” I answered, a little louder, a little annoyed now. “Come on, why doesn’t someone like you have a girlfriend. You’re a fun and good looking guy.” “Aaron, I don’t date girls.” He sort of cocked his head to the left, confused, much like a puppy trying to figure out what his master is trying to teach him. Then I continued to talk, stuck between clarifying and overstating the point, “Aaron, I’m gay.” Just like that, I was out. And suddenly I was freaked out. I was a third year teacher. I was a teacher without tenure. I was, a teacher, who, up until this moment, had never once had the complete attention of every single student in the classroom, at one time. I was amazed. But I guess it was time.

I came out during my senior year of college, with the help of a great school psychologist, to my friends and family. I started with the easy ones, the girls that probably already knew and then moved on to the ones who refused to believe because I was too cute or fun to lead what they dubbed a “lonely and hard” life. I ended with my closest male friend, who, I thought would disown me on the spot. All of them took the news remarkably well. I finally shared it with the last person in the world I wanted to tell, but once I did, I knew I would be free from the closet, the fear and the despair, forever: my father. He did not take it very well at first. Normally not a man of many words, he left me to stumble over his extreme silence for several months until my stepmother intervened and made us sit down to talk about the matter. A few angry words from him and a few angry words from me, and it was done, I was gay and he was still my dad. It was a liberating summer; the summer before I student taught.
It was the start of many bold exchanges for me.
I student taught in an urban school on the west side of St. Paul. My master teacher was a 26 year veteran and a great source of knowledge. I got the impression though, that he did things the way they’ve always been done, very traditional. It came as a bit of a shock to him that, upon the students’ continued use of the term “gay” to mean something or someone was stupid, I stopped the class and came out to them. I asked the two students, one an African American male and the other a female of Latino descent, if they would appreciate my use of racial slurs to describe something or someone as dumb. They screamed ”No”! Then I said, “Well, this gay man doesn’t appreciate it either.” And that was it. I received no questions, no second thoughts or strange looks. I was out and I still had about 6 weeks of student teaching left. After class was over, I told my master teacher. He was not very happy with my choice, mostly out of respect of my safety, as I was not yet a full time teacher with rights or a contract. A large part of my ease of coming out I think was my naiveté of schools and politics, but, what was done was done. I informed the principal, and shared my story and she could not have been more supportive. I felt like the whole world was on my side. My confidence grew. I finished out the term and proceeded to look for a job the next spring. If I could truly be myself and teach, I would be happy.
During my search, I fell into a great transition job that involved both young people and government. I began working with an organization called Project 120 in January of 1999. Each week of the three month legislative session, I worked with of 20-30 different high school students from across the state. They came to St. Paul, the capital, for five days and four nights to learn about state government. I was an evening instructor and it was my charge to help run in-services on how bills became laws, help facilitate diversity workshops and supervise the social or “fun” evening activities like laser tag and ping pong.
It was during these 12 weeks that I was able to meet maybe different students from all walks of life and both educate them on my content knowledge and interact with them in an informal setting. I would frequently field the typical stream of adolescent questions, usually, but not always, in the same order:
Are you married? (no)
Do you have a girlfriend? (no)
Are you gay? (yes)
Do you have a boyfriend? (yes)
Some of the more intuitive kids went straight to questions 3 or 4! Nevertheless, I was able to be a teacher, and adult and a gay person to these students. I believe my openness and honesty was made easier because the situation we were all in. We are essentially thrown into a group of strangers and, by simple proximity and circumstance, were obligated to adapt to different lifestyles, races and ideas then we were typically used to seeing. It was a great experience for me and the 500 or 600 students that I worked with over the 3 years I was with Project 120.
It was during the very first year of Project 120, around week seven or so, that I came to know two students from the a central Minnesota school district who I would never forget: Tom was wheelchair-bound due to the many heart surgeries that he had endured, and Chris was kind enough to assist Tom by pushing him around. Tom, with all his medical issues, ended up having more life and vigor in his little finger than I or any of the students had combined. Tom was inspirational and a wonderment to all of us. We laughed, we talked and we shared so much about our lives in just a few short days. He said to me, and I’ll never forget it, “You’re an awesome person and an awesome teacher. I want you to apply in my school district. We are building two new schools, and I think you would do a great job.” This 15 year old kid was so mature and wise beyond his yearsthat he was counseling me on how and where to get a job! I did just what he told me to do. I applied at school in the southern part of the growing district in April. I interviewed in mid-May on a Tuesday and was hired the next day. Boom, just like that, I had a job. I had Tom to thank.
I soon discovered that the district was fairly conservative, and despite my ease of coming out to friends, family, students in my first two teaching experiences, I was instantly very quiet about my personal life. I was a non-tenured teacher who needed this job, so I couldn’t screw it up by coming out. All the courage I had prior to this was instantly balled up inside of me again. I avoided personal questions and usually just led people to believe that I was single. I hated being the “single guy” who could stay late and come in early all the time to prepare. I hated it, because I wasn’t.single: I was in a relationship with a man, but it just so happens that I was excited to do a good job and was willing to put in the extra hours. But most of all I hated lying, because I was lying to spare them the trouble of working with a gay person and not for my benefit. I was not happy in my present situation, and it was apparent in my classroom. My classroom management was authoritative, and my lessons were cookie-cutter-straight-from-the-book. No creativity, no passion. That’s because I wasn’t teaching. Some liar, pretending he wasn’t a queer, was teaching, and he wasn’t very good.
This would go on for two years, despite my longing to come out. I had even discussed this with colleagues about how and when I should do it, but was always told to play it safe. I hated safe. I would rather not work than not be me. I had had it so good for so long with being me and everyone accepting it. I just couldn’t imagine that my students wouldn’t accept me for who I was.
It was during my second year of teaching that I came across a book titled One teacher in 10. I scanned the queer sections of book stores a lot, searching for stories of solace and empowerment. When I found this book, one for gay and lesbian teachers, I snatched it up and raced home. It was these stories that restored my faith in myself as a teacher and help rebuild my courage in my gay self. Eventually it did help me achieve what I was seeking.
Everyone was staring at me. I couldn’t believe that I just came out, so quickly. Normally I had just deflected such inquiries with passive brush offs or my own question of “What does that have to do with Government?” And now I felt flush and a little sick. Then the hands started to rise. Instantly, I said, with the ease of a 20 year veteran, “you can have 10 questions, and then we move on, deal?” They agreed. I can’t say that I remember all of the questions, but I do remember counting because I wanted to get off the topic as quickly as possible. The usual laundry list of questions came up: When did you know? Do your parents know? What do they think? Do you have a boyfriend? What is it like, to be gay? After the intense but brief examination of Mr. Johnson’s personal life, I continued the lesson, a little shaky, but, also with a secret sense of victory. My nervousness gave way to composure. My level of empathy increased dramatically, and I think my students appreciated my vulnerability and sympathized with me. On many levels, I sensed their low-self-esteem-adolescent-persons were proud that I shared such a sacred and private part of my life with them. I shared the experience with my colleagues and principal at the day’s end and they were happy for me. Most were a little nervous for me, but nevertheless, I had their support.
Mr. Johnson was out.
I have been at the same school for my entire career thus far. I have just begun my sixth year of teaching at a brand the new high school, which was built across the street from my old building. I have had nothing but support from my coworkers, students, administration and several school board members. I am amazed at how accepting my district and my school have been. I am certain that not everyone in the district agrees with my orientation or is supportive but, if so, I’ve been lucky that they have chosen not to express themselves publicly.
I recently had a oneday retreat with our school’s staff. During our introductions, I did not hesitate for a moment to express who was, and did so with a funny story about staring with a new staff five years prior. I stood up and shared that Gail, an English teacher I taught next to had, on many occasions, tried to set me up with her nieces and friends and other women by bringing in pictures to show me. This had gone on for about 5 or 6 weeks, and, it was early in the school year. I knew that I would not be able to endure these awkward conversations for the remainder of the school year! I was sort of dumbfounded as to how to handle this situation, not knowing how this woman, who was at least 25 years my senior, would respond. I sought out another teacher, who, by my estimation was as liberal as they come, and peeked into her classroom and said, “Sue, can I talk to you?” “Sure, Ryan, come on in!” she exclaimed. “Well, I have a situation and I need your advice, but first, I have to tell you something.” I said, sheepishly. “Well, what is it?” she inquired. “Um, I’m gay.” Suddenly a big grin shot across her face and she laughed out loud and said, “Honey, I knew you were gay five minutes before I met you!” I busted out laughing and with a newfound ease, shared my dilemma with Sue. She promptly marched me into Gail’s room and flatly told her, “Gail, Ryan’s gay, quit trying to set him up with girls!” I had no idea how close those two women were, and how liberal and tolerant they BOTH were. We laughed about that for a long time, and I’ve never forgot the story. However, a part of me realized that Sue and Gail might have, because as I was telling the story to my new staff, one which Gail and Sue are part of, they started to cry and then laugh. I think they suddenly realized the impact they have had on my life
Upon reflection of my fortunes about being gay in this profession, I remember a conversation I had with the principal that the junior high school. I have worked with Claudia for two years and we have become good friends. She offered some insight on the topic of being a gay teacher in this district. “Ryan”, she said, “I am continuously amazed at how accepted you are by students, parents and employees of this school and district. I think it is a testament to what a fantastic teacher and a great person you are. It doesn’t matter that you are gay, it’s just a part of who you are.”
And that’s what matters.