Why I Teach
“Have you ever experienced prejudice?” I asked my history class after studying the Holocaust. I am trying to engage them in conversation by getting them to relate to their own lives. To see that someone has felt things that they may feel before. To see that they are not the first people to go through hard times.
“Yes. All the time actually.” Tony answers (name has been changed to protect confidentiality) a sensitive kid that is more compassionate and intuitive than any 17-year old I’ve ever met.
I reply “Tony would you like to tell us about your experience?”
Tony replies that yes he would. “Well, a lot of people think I’m Muslim because of my appearance. People used to ask me if I was gonna bring a bomb to school. Which is really messed up.” I reply “Yes Tony that is messed up. hopefully one day our society can move past judging people based on appearances.”
Then Tony continues. “Also that’s not the only reason I have felt prejudice. I am transitioning to be a woman and some people are really judgmental and mean about it.”
After a beat, I reply: “Oh I’m so sorry to hear that you haven’t been treated well. Please let me know if I can help in any way.”
Tony replies “yes, can you call me “Sara” instead of Tony? It would really mean a lot to me.”
My breath catches in my throat for a second. I reply “Sure thing Sara, but just know that I’m going to make mistakes in the beginning. And I’m sorry for that. Please correct me every single time I do.”
Sara responds that she will but also that she knows that the mistakes are not intended nor are they done with malice. So it's OK. She accepts my apologies in advance.
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This conversation happened last week and I still find myself mulling it over every time my thoughts are idle. Not out of disagreement. Not at all.
Out of Honor. And Emotion.
This student felt comfortable enough to publicly come out to me and everyone else in the class.
How lucky am I that I have been fortunate to create an environment where she feels she is able to be herself and ready to let everyone else know.
I am honored.
This is why I teach. I don’t give two shits about the standardized test scores or the other crap teachers have to deal with. But this stuff? This the reason I slogged through the murky waters of grad school, brave the knots in my stomach every single time I hear my name on the intercom to report to the principal's office, the early mornings before dawn, the late nights that end after the sun goes down and the mountains of paperwork.
This story is one I’ll cherish forever. This way I became a teacher.
I, a cis, straight, white upper-middle-class woman working in an urban inner city, crime-ridden, drug-infested high school composed of mostly poor minority teenagers: was able to make a space where a 17-year-old Hispanic transgender teenager feel like she can be herself without fear, guilt or ridicule for at least 55 minutes of her day.
Last Friday; I made a difference and that means the world to me.
