Slowly but surely I'm doing my job. Actually, it feels like my heart beats to the time of our school bell schedule. Translation: I nearly drop dead on the weekends. It's really too bad; I'm just that dedicated.
Aren't we all.
One of the projects I pretend to work on pertains to the Free and Reduced Lunch Program. From here on out, I shall refer to this is as FRLP, which is fun to pronounce as a word (fir-lip noun: hairy lip (on women); exterior of fir tree mouth, from middle english). I'm interested in the stigma of FRLP as manifested in the paper tickets poor and low income students exchange for lunch each day.
This is a FRLP ticket. Some people think it's a "drawing" when I show it to them. If you look carefully, you'll notice a bite mark on the top left corner of the ticket, and the mysterious "5" a the bottom right of this ticket should clue you into its authenticity.
I wanted real perspectives about this issue from real students. Can you blame me? They're the ones using the tickets and participating in the discgusting ritual that is high school. Oh, it's not so bad. I say "disgusting" as though it in some way resembled the experience of drinking spoiled milk or watching someone's teeth get knocked out of their head. It's not "disgusting" like that, but you must admit that high school is a painful situation for some. I wanted to know all about that pain, so I sat in on a Title I reading class and held "focus groups" with the students.
The first few classes went fine. I connected with a few students about poverty and the instances they've struggled through; the goals they set despite their situation; yadda yadda yadda. In one class, a student told me that people who live in poverty don't work hard and are in poverty because they probably don't take opportunities to get out of poverty. Normally, this type of comment would elicit unbridled rage and anger within my usually peaceful soul, but I restrained myself and tried to face his somewhat insular perspective with cold hard facts. I feel proud of the way I handled that, but we're not here to stroke my ego. I mean, I'm not here to stroke my ego.
According to google images, this is what "hard work" and "poverty" looks like. Maybe that kid was right. I can see the EBT card sticking out of one of their pockets. Oh wait, no, it's a Disney World credit card. Shucks. Thanks for the true depiction!
Anyway, third period rolled around and in walked five people. Only one seemed to possess speaking capabilities, which is fine. I wasn't there to force them into answering anything they didn't want to answer. With this group, though, it was tough getting them to tell me their name and grade. Before the bell rang, the only girl in the class struts in with her pink Doc Martens-like footwear, a faux cowgirl shirt (like, one from Old Navy?), and tight jeans. She sits down between two boys who don't seem to know her, yet she proceeds to prop her legs atop them. I could "sense" how they felt at the moment.
Well, Suzy Q (a fake name in the interest of confidentiality) looks at me and instinctively asks, "Are you here to talk for National Coming Out Day?"
My face dropped. I can't even imagine the look I gave her. I mumbled "... No?" and she proceeded, "Oh, I was just wondering since 'people' were coming into some of my friends' classes to talk about being gay and lesbian and bisexual and all that."
"Oh," I uttered. "Well, I could talk about that too. If you want?"
Suzy Q laughed and quickly turned to one of her "boyfriends"/makeshift furniture and exclaimed, "My friend Jonah/Claire/Apple/Seven said (s)he was glad to be here for me today because he told everyone that I was bisexual and it's funny that he said that. Because it's funny."
Teacher turns to Suzy Q and asks, "Well, it's National Coming Out Day today. Aren't you supposed to out yourself instead of having someone else out you?"
Funny, teacher, I wondered something similar.
The period crawled by. As I said, this wasn't a talkative bunch. Toward the end of the period, when we could hear the dead flies' gradual decomposition resound, Suzy Q said to me, "I didn't mean to offend you or anything before. About the Coming Out Day thing that I said."
I told her it was fine. What I meant by that was: I'm in a relationship, and this is proof that gaydar in fact exists.
In the following periods, students accused me of poverty-related voyeurism, told me I was "ridiculous" for doing the work I do, and basically suggested I leave Missoula and live on a reservation.
Nice kids, right? Right! That's why I love working at a school. For all of you out there who should be teachers: it isn't really that bad. Hey, if you aren't part of a marginalized group, you'll be fine. As a female, you may sense sexism from your Republican male students, but if you're white and straight, the kids should come around by December. If you're lucky.
It's funny because I always talk about how non-heteros in Montana have different signifiers than those folks in cities like New York. I guess my theory is wrong. Or maybe Suzy Q and I know each other from Catalyst, the local coffee shop that attracts lesbians and straight people who don't know that lesbians work/eat/drink there.
Ah, life is so fun. And please, everyone, before you forget: Do come out. If you aren't sure what to come out as, I hear "heterosexual" is a popular choice among folks these days.
