Mrs. Erickson, My Spanish Teacher in High School Was Probably Gay. So Was I?
During my entire career as a student and as an adult, I kept in touch with only one teacher, Dorothy Erickson. She was my high school Spanish teacher and when she became a school counselor, I was her errand boy in the counseling office.
She sent me a Christmas Card every year, written in Spanish. It would be addressed to “Querido Miguel,” and be signed, “Con mucho afectión, Señorita Erickson.”
Many years later, I inadvertently ran into her at the assisted-care facility in which my aunt lived and I reintroduced myself to her. She remembered my face but not much else. I explained who I was and our relationship and she seemed happy to see me. I understood her hesitancy when her niece explained to me that Miss Erickson had advanced Alzherimer’s.
She had been a tall, big boned, blond haired, imposing woman. She was a WAC in the Army. She was masculine in her dress and in her ways and never married. She was probably a lesbian but I never broached the issue in later years when I had reached adulthood. It would have been nice to have discussed this with her. When we met for the last time, she was white haired, stooped over, and much smaller than I had remembered.
She died a few years later (in her 70’s I believe) as reported to me by my aunt, who since has died as well. Amazing to me that teachers actually have lives. They live and die like anyone else. Shortly after graduating grammar school, in the cafeteria of the high school during lunch time, the news circulated that Mrs. Mc Daniels, my sixth grade teacher, had died. Really freaked me out. I had REALLY BELIEVED that they went on forever.
But then again, when I was a very young boy, in third or fourth grade, I REALLY BELIEVED that when the students went home after school, my teacher lived in the green metal filing cabinet next to her desk. To this day I cannot picture that teacher or remember her name but I can picture exactly what the filing cabinet looked like, from the outside at least. I wonder how many rooms it had.
And today, I am a retired teacher who over a period of thirty years worked with thousands of students. I correspond and visit once in a while with only a few students, thanks in part to Facebook. I was never the kind of teacher who “held on” to my students. At the end of the year, I sent them on their way (like pushing fledgling birds out of the nest hoping they will fly away.)
Now and then I get a little feedback about my student’s experiences in my classroom, what they loved, what they remembered with a few compliments added like: “You were the best teacher I ever had.” “You really understood and accepted me for who I was.” “I still have the hardback story book we created in fifth grade.”
As a gay teacher during the 70’s to the 90’s, I was not able to be honest about who I was as a gay man for fear of being fired. We didn’t even talk about it in the teacher’s lounge where you would think my fellow educators would accept me for who I was!
I have come out since to a few students with whom I am in touch and for them the issue seems not to be at all significant! These days I am very open and honest about being gay and post a lot about my partner (RIP) and our “Dementia/ Alzheimer’s Adventure.”
I will live and I will die and most of my students will live on past me as I lived on past Miss Erickson and maybe they will remember me … or not.
