When youre an educator ignorance is not an excuse George Iannuzzi
We talk all the time about how
kids need to see themselves
in the adults around them.
And in the end, I became
a teacher
so that I could be that person
for kids like me.
You can imagine then, how
seriously I take it
when I’m presented with the
opportunity to do just that.
I want to tell you about Ash.
Ash is a dynamic, creative, and
kind kid.
They love reading, and though
they might not have been
the strongest student in my
English class,
they were the kid you want
in your classroom –
that kid who’s just motivated and
seems to really enjoy learning.
Over the course of our year
together,
we got to know each
other pretty well.
We would share book
recommendations,
and Ash would tell me all about
different things
that were going on in the community
for LGBTQ people.
I was in awe of Ash’s ability
to be so open with me
about the things that made
them different.
Of course what I failed to realize
was that there was a whole world
outside of English class
that Ash experienced everyday.
And the following year, I received
an email from Ash’s parents
asking if I would sit down with
their child.
Apparently, at that point,
I was the one that Ash felt most
comfortable talking to.
Now selfishly, in that moment,
I felt a little proud
because this is exactly what I
wanted to be for my students.
We were going to sit down, it
was going to be my Oprah moment,
and we were both going to leave
that conversation
feeling like we were in the audience
that day she gave everybody a car.
When we sat down to talk, Ash
described feeling alone and upset
all the time at school,
and when I asked why that was,
the thing is Ash couldn’t point
to one big thing.
Instead, they described a series of
small instances,
in which they were sent negative
messages from, yes, their classmates,
but more importantly, their teachers.
Things like using the wrong
pronouns or the wrong name
or not correcting students when they
used the wrong pronoun
or the wrong name.
Things like telling Ash to “let it go”
when something happened in the
cafeteria
because being gender-neutral or
transgender was “new”
and people just “didn’t get it yet.”
Things like telling Ash to just come out
because “won’t that be
easier for everyone?”
As Ash was talking, all I could think
about
was something that a professor
said to me in college once:
It is impossible for students to learn
from someone who they feel
does not respect them.
How could we expect Ash to sit in our
classrooms everyday,
and focus on learning, when all they
could think about
was the fact that their teachers didn’t
care about who they were as a person.
And I want to be clear here:
the key is not whether or not Ash’s
teachers truly did or did not care
or the fact that some of them were
kind and compassionate people.
Ash’s perception was
that they didn’t care
and that they weren’t kind, and
therefore that was their reality.
I wanted to help Ash,
and I wanted to try to repair their
relationship with their teachers,
but I knew I needed to do it carefully,
because at the end of the day, I
couldn’t fully relate to their experiences.
I explained to Ash that part of what
comes with being an LGBTQ person
is an understanding that sometimes
people simply might not know
the right thing to say or the right
thing to do.
I encouraged Ash to do what I do in
these situations,
which is to explain to the person what
they have done wrong
and educate them on what is correct.
I reminded Ash that there is great power
in giving somebody a second chance
to make things right.
I regret giving Ash that advice.
The thing is that ignorance is not an
excuse when you are an educator,
and it should not be up to a 13-year-old
to teach the adults in their life
what is right and wrong.
We need to be proactive and we need
to take time to learn about people
who are different from us.
And this doesn’t just apply to topics
like gender identity,
but to everything in our society that
either awards people privileges
or takes them away – race, income,
education, sexuality, being able-bodied –
that list goes on and on.
And it’s especially crucial to do this
when there is a lack of diversity
in your staff.
I once had a colleague come up to
me and say that she really really hoped
that I got a kid in my class
the following year
because she suspected
he might be gay.
While I take a lot of pride
in being visible,
it cannot be up to me “the gay guy”
to be the resource for every gay or potentially gay student in the school,
because they might
not end up in my classroom.
Instead, it is the entire staff
of a school
that needs to be able to help every
student, and I think that’s possible
because most teachers
are going into education
to have a positive impact on kids.
So we need to be explicitly
thoughtful about the messages
that we’re sending to students, and
we need to take time to listen,
really listen, to stories from people
who are different from us,
so we may better understand them.
And at the end of the day, I think
that’s an easy thing to do
because teaching at its core will
always be a human endeavor first.
Content is important, but we hold
immense power in our classrooms–
the power to change lives.
It is not wrong to treat the students
in your classroom like they’re people,
because they are.
Unfortunately, those small instances
became too much for Ash,
and they left the school.
Of course, I’m not privy to all of the
reasoning behind the decision,
but it’s my understanding that a
major part of it
was that they simply felt they
would never be respected.
I think about that situation
all the time,
especially when I think about
school climates today.
When we think about bullying, for example,
we’re not just seeing the physical
altercation anymore.
Instead, it’s the small instances, it’s
the microaggressions,
that have become the
enemy of a safe school.
When they happen to you,
they stick in your mind
and they become like this rolodex
or this card catalog of negative
memories to file through,
or uh, old references – a contact list on
your iPhone – you get my point.
So what if we could take those
small instances,
and turn them into positive ones
for students?
What if we could show them
that empathy, listening,
understanding, and acceptance
never go out of style.
They’re like the tailored blazers
of good values–
they look good on everyone, and
if you take care of them,
they last forever.
We know that kids in part emulate the
behaviors of the adults around them,
so if we model our “good value blazers,”
won’t they want to wear them too?
Of course, none of that is what I
was thinking about
when I knocked on the counselor’s office
on the second day of my teaching career.
I had convinced myself that it was
time to pack up my classroom
and call my mother to let her know
that unfortunately
I’d be moving back in with
her after she finally got rid of me.
I spent that entire afternoon
trying to figure out
what I could have possibly done
and nothing came to mind,
so I walked to the counselor’s office
and I knocked on the door
and I sat in the chair and I braced
myself and she said,
“We need to talk about Nat” –
and it clicked.
I knew exactly what this
was going to be about.
You see, like most teachers on the
first day of school,
I give a survey to my students
to get to know them better.
I ask them the usual questions:
What do you want to do better in
English class this year?
How comfortable are you raising
your hand and talking in class?
I asked them some fun questions like,
What’s your ideal superpower?
What’s your favorite word?
But the last question stays the
same every year, and that’s,
Is there anything else you feel I
need to know about you?
Nat’s survey was like everyone else
until that last question,
where they explained to me
that they are gender neutral.
I really respected their willingness
to share that with me
on the very first day,
and I wanted to make sure that
I didn’t misidentify them in class.
So in the morning of that second day of school at the end of class,
I called Nat back to my desk
and I said the following:
“I have a question. You don’t have
to answer if you don’t want to,
but I’m just hoping you’ll share
with me what pronouns you prefer.”
Nat said that “they” and “them”
would do just fine
and that was the extent of our conversation,
which is why I didn’t think
much about it
and why it didn’t come to mind
when I was trying to figure out
whose life I destroyed
two days into teaching.
I was just doing for Nat what I hoped someone would do for me
if I shared that information.
The counselor explained to me that
none of Nat’s teachers
had ever done that before.
And Nat was so excited, that they went
to the counselor to tell them about it.
And this is what it looked like when I
realized that I was being praised
and not fired.
Look: did hearing that make me feel
good?
I would be lying if I said it didn’t.
I told you I like attention; this was
some pretty positive attention.
But teaching isn’t about getting praise
for simply being a good person.
That conversation in the counselor’s
office should never have to happen.
It should be the norm that students
don’t have to fear the small instances,
it should be the norm that students feel
safe and respected in their schools,
and it should be the norm that teachers
are careful about the messages
they send to students and that they work
to create positive small instances
because they’re the ones that can really change everything.
We talked for a little while longer and the counselor was super cool
about what must have just been like
tons of relief radiating from my body,
And in the end, she passed along one final message from Nat to me:
“Can you just let him know how
excited I am for class this year?”