walker
Dr. Gardner was waiting for me as I approached my classroom on the first day of school.
“You have everything you need?” she asked, her tone apologetic.
I understood the position she’d been in, and we’d talked a lot since things got resolved. Even after my mother retracted her story, Dr. Gardner had still had to go to bat for me in a big way to get the district to approve my reinstatement. In my mind, she had nothing to apologize for.
“Yep. I’m gonna throw a pop quiz first thing, just to keep them on their toes.”
“You’re going to traumatize them, you know,” she said with a chuckle.
“That’s the job, Dr. Gardner. Traumatize them out of the gate so they’ll cooperate for the rest of the year.”
“You know what, I might add that bit of sage advice to our next teacher in-service day.”
“Let me know if you want me to put it in a PowerPoint.”
She smiled and patted my arm. “I’m glad you’re here today.”
“So am I.”
I didn’t actually traumatize my geometry students, though I did give them an ungraded quiz, explaining that the results would help me to know where they were and that it wouldn’t count against their final average. A few nervous students checked in with me after class to reverify that it wasn’t going to impact their grade, and I was happy to reassure them.
“This just helps me to figure out where geometry falls apart for my students so I can make the curriculum work better for you. You see and use geometry everywhere in life, whether or not you realize it. I want what I teach you to be meaningful.”
“Meaningful?” one of the football players asked, incredulous. “I just need to pass this shit.”
I put my hands on my hips like a real teacher. “Fair enough. You don’t mind if we have a little fun while we’re at it, though, do you?”
“No, Teach. I suppose that’s okay.”
Before leaving the classroom, the football player—Tate—stopped in front of me, towering over me as many of the kids did. “What’s your gym routine, Teach?”
“Eh, it’s pretty standard. My boyfriend and I get up early, jog a couple of miles, then we alternate yoga and weights.”
“Boyfriend? You’re gay?”
I waited a beat, extremely aware of the environment. And then took a breath. “I’m still working out the specifics. Bi, probably.”
“That why they put you in charge of the shop class? Because Mr. Paige was gay?”
“I dunno… maybe?”
He laughed. “I think there’s a guy on the team that might be, you know, on the rainbow.”
With everything that had gone on this summer, I hadn’t had a chance to sit with my new understanding of how important Mr. Paige had been to me. He wasn’t just a shop teacher; he wasn’t even just a gay teacher. He was the one who had made it all right for kids to be themselves. Even though I didn’t know who I was back then, knowing I’d had a gay teacher in school made all the difference when I was finally able to examine my own sexuality over a decade later.
Refocusing on the kid in front of me, I asked, “How does that make you feel, knowing someone on the team might not be straight?”
He shrugged—a big move, since his shoulders were nearly the width of the door. “I don’t give a shit. I mean, the main question is: Can he tackle? Yes? Great.” He stopped to think it through. “I just… Team cohesion is a huge thing. Like, I don’t know if you played football, but?—”
“I never played football, but I was on the baseball team, so I’m aware.”
“So you know if we play like shit, it fucks up everything. Scholarships, relationships with our parents, kids in the hallway.”
“I get it. Let me ask you this: would you let someone on the team tell you to stop dating your girlfriend?”
“We broke up yesterday,” he said, hanging his head.
