
I returned to work today, although I was unable to tough it out and go to conferences. It became clear after a couple of class periods that all I was going to be capable of doing was preventing any of them from killing themselves or each other, and a twelve-hour day simply wasn’t happening today. It’s 8:30 PM as I’m writing this, and I feel more fully human than I have in a week, although I still haven’t managed to eat a real meal. Lunch was half a package of saltines, a banana, and a couple of cups of applesauce. Dinner was some mashed potatoes and a couple of pretzel sticks.
I am hoping to eat a salad for lunch tomorrow without paying for it. We shall see.
I had one of the more bizarre conversations/arguments with a student today that I’ve had in a while; I don’t remember exactly what got us on the topic, but two of my fifth hour girls had come back to my desk and the topic of my son came up. One of them appeared completely bewildered by the topic, and even more bewildered by the notion that I might be 50 and have a fifteen-year-old.
“He’s adopted, though, right?”
Uh … no. He’s mine.
“But was he … born?“
I swear that’s what she asked, and that got her a weird look from both of us.
Yes? My son was born. I was there. Watched it happen, at least sort of. They put you behind the curtain when there’s a c-section, but there wasn’t a baby one minute and then there was a huge hole in my wife and a baby, so I kinda made some assumptions? Plus the whole pregnancy thing that ended right away.
“But … you’re gay.”
It is worth making clear here that this child had not one trace of doubt in that statement. None. It was apparently more logical to her that I had somehow conjured my own son than that I was a heterosexual married to a woman.
“I promise you I’m not. Married to a woman and everything.”
“You told us you were gay!”
At this point her friend literally shakes her head as if she can’t quite believe what she’s looking at and is trying to clear the cobwebs. It was kind of hilarious.
“He never said that.”
“I never said that.”
“Yes you did! You’re gay!”
“He has a wife,” the other one hisses at her, clearly mortified.
At this point I produced my phone (did I mention I decided not to order the Duo? I didn’t order a Duo.) and showed her a family picture. I swear she was no more than a moment or two from telling me my son’s graduation picture was AI.
Now, here’s the thing: I am certain a nontrivial portion of my students assume I’m gay. The room isn’t exactly full of pride flags, nothing like it was at my previous school, but they’re there, and they all know I run the school’s LGBTQ club, and I come down hard on homophobia in my room. And, and this is my fault, and I should probably fix it, there aren’t any family photos prominently displayed anywhere, so a casual observer of my room couldn’t be faulted for jumping to a conclusion. I make it real clear to the Gem Club kids that I’m cishet because I don’t want them feeling like I’ve misrepresented myself, but I genuinely don’t care what the rest of them think– and I think the fact that I don’t make a big deal out of it when kids do ask if I’m gay doesn’t help. I’ve never had a kid ask with any sort of hateful or disgusted feelings attached to the question, and a lot of the time they’ll apologize beforehand. I always tell them the same thing, more or less– yes, I’m straight, but I’m not bothered by the idea that they thought otherwise at first. I will be okay. So will they.
This is, however, the first time that someone has argued with me about it.







