HELLO!

August went by in 2.5 seconds and that is not remotely an exaggeration.

Just every year, you know? And I've become one of those cliches who repeats the same thing about time passing and years flying by and WHERE HAS THE TIME GONE. Like sometimes I'm afraid to blink.

But other times I'm like, you know, kids being back in school isn't the worst thing that could happen.

Lololol jk WE ARE ALL READY.

It's just that time doesn't make sense.

Since I last talked to you, my oldest child turned 14, which felt infinitely weirder than 13. I turned 41, which felt like a non-thing after turning 40.

Should I now pontificate on age and how it doesn't make sense?

NARRATOR: I'm trying to make her stop and get on point, I swear.

My mom and I hung out on my birthday for a bit, and we got to talking about teachers I had in elementary school. My 3rd (and 4th) grade teacher, Mrs. Morgan-Cleland, was a comically exuberant, wild-haired delight. She was creative and loud and just excited about life.

I told mom the story about how she slotted me to be the emcee of our class variety show. Square dancing! Songs played entirely by kazoo!

Haikus read aloud by 9 year-olds!

I was the Shepard of All The Chaos. I stood at the microphone and read poems, told the audience what was coming next. In what I'm pretty sure was a hilariously prairie-esque floral dress and a spiral perm.

When I practiced for this role leading up to the show, Mrs. Morgan-Cleland taught me how to enunciate, how to keep my hands and arms still and not be fidgety. I don't remember WANTING this role, but she must have seen something in me. And by god, she was going to nurture the hell out of me or die trying.

In 5th and 6th grade, I had another teacher of Big Personality, Mr. Starkovich. He put on school plays every year, ran the Halloween haunted house (and somehow got my shy and quiet dad to dress up and scare people? how?).

He oversaw some of the most gloriously dramatic games of all-class capture the flag on our school grounds.

In his plays, I was Cinderella's fairy godmother, prancing around the stage in a very puffy blue dress and singing. Singing. Like whole songs.

I was the lead in a play I remember nothing about, except for my tragically bad southern accent.

I was Willy Wonka, dressed up in velvet trousers and a giant top hat.

I played girls and boys and everything in between.

It didn't occur to me until I was rehashing some of these stories, that I was given such a gift.

Over the last few years, I've watched teachers be vilified and scapegoated and accused of NOT TEACHING THE BASICS or being "too woke".

"Indoctrinating" kids by supporting gender expression and fluidity.

In this Year of Our Lord 2022, would Mr. Starkovich have been able to put a girl in the role of Willy Wonka?

What if he had cast a boy as the fairy godmother? Whew.

THAT IS TOO WOKE, SIR.

How dare you teach kids they can be anything they want?

I look back on elementary school with such fondness. I was so fortunate to have teachers who truly loved their students, and saw things in them that maybe the world didn't see yet.

I didn't know until just a few years ago that my dad intentionally did not put me in a new high-cap program the school had started. As a parent now, I can imagine what a hard choice that must have been!

I was a book smart kid, and that would have seemed the logical choice, I think.

Instead I got Mrs. Morgan-Cleland and square dancing. Which led to Willy Wonka and a terrible southern accent.

Which gave me huge pieces of who I am today.

I guarantee that changed the trajectory of my life.

I fully had the capacity to become an insufferable know-it-all.

NARRATOR: Instead, she became a joyful, outgoing know-it-all. THERE IS A DIFFERENCE. Also, she has a point. Bear with her as she links it all together.

Last year, at my kids' middle school baseball game, a few of the parents looped me into a conversation about something they were just horrified about at school. I had no idea what they were talking about. I also knew I didn't want to know, but asked anyway.

Some students were participating in a day of silence, to protest the discrimination and invisibility of LGBTQ+ students in schools. I later asked my son about it, and he said he had heard a little bit about it, but it wasn't a big deal or even a school-wide thing.

These parents at the game, however, had Big Feelings about this. They pulled their kids out of school, went and talked to the principal and when she didn't know about it, accused her of not knowing what was going on with her students. They were OUTRAGED that teachers were hanging Pride flags in their classroom.

ONE TEACHER EVEN HUNG THE PRIDE FLAG RIGHT NEXT TO THE AMERICAN FLAG.

The horror.

I finally said that it felt important to me that LGBTQ+ students felt respected, included, safe. One mom said OF COURSE BUT WHY NOT ALL KIDS.

Of course all kids should feel respected, included, and safe. BUT NOT ALL KIDS DO.

Hence, a day of silence that nobody asked your kid to participate in.

The reason I'm sharing these stories with you today is not to tell you that of course I wore a Queer Eye shirt with a giant rainbow to the next baseball game, much to the delight of my family.

It's because my kids start school tomorrow, and it's got me really thinking about teachers in this political climate.

Bless the teachers who go out of their way to be inclusive. All I ever wanted as a kid (and still want) is to be seen and heard and valued. To all the teachers who show up for our kids every day, bless your damn hearts.

In a country that is trying really hard to shove people into rigid boxes, bless the teachers who allow our kids to sort themselves out and change their identity from one day to the next. Bless the teachers who allow for ambiguity and know that none of us, not even the most self-aware adults, have it all figured out.

Bless the teachers who see in our kids what the world can't quite see yet.

Who dress them up in velvet trousers and a top hat and let them loose on the world.