My middle school years were some of the worst of my life. We had moved to the ghetto and I had to deal with a lot of scary things – the drunk who lived and hung out on the corner, the demented grandma in the attic across the street who screamed obscenities at us, the ”friends” I made who thought it was OK to “brick” someone, being the “new kid” at school (again) in the middle of February, having my stepfather’s various friends/lovers/kids move in and out of our home.
It was chaos.
On top of this, my stepfather had progressed into full raging mode. His bipolar/narcissistic issues made living in our home a nightmare.
I had two places that offered refuge for me: school and the community center.
School was a place where I excelled. I was smart, compliant and a hard worker. I got recognition from teachers and classmates. I was a straight A student in academic. I had devised ways to deal with bullies and workarounds to get good grades in classes I hated like gym, handwriting and art.
The community center offered something different. I learned how to roller skate with all the neighborhood kids during free skating nights on Wednesday. In summers, they gave us free bagged lunches and would bus us to swimming pools that were too far away to walk to. Best of all, they offered free music lessons. I learned how to play the drums and read music.
I loved my music teacher – Bob Featherlin. He was a real drummer with long blond hair and a hippie mustache. He took me under his wing and taught me lessons every week for years. Even today, 40 years later, I think about how much his kindness, enthusiasm and support meant to me.
I was thinking about this recently because of the “Don’t Say Gay” school bills that are being proposed (and sometimes enacted) across the country.
I’ve got strong opinions on the “woke” posturing on the left and the absurd behavior of the “don’t say gay” right. Both are bullshit.
But what I was thinking about were the kids, who like I was, might be living in a home full of chaos. These kids who need a refuge from their home life. A sympathetic teacher. Someone who listens. Someone who shows them kindness and support without judgement.
Are we taking away one of the few places that offers respite for these kids? Does it really matter if they are gay, straight, confused or just living in a chaotic home? I worry more that all this bullshit is going to prevent some good teachers from creative a safe space for the kids. I worry it will drive some good teachers to leave and will discourage our next generation of great teachers from even starting.
I’m not sure what I can do about this. I no longer vote.
I don’t protest.
I don’t have school aged children.
I suppose I can try to lend an ear and be a mentor to a kid although I haven’t had any opportunity like this for years.
Sometimes, I’d just like to smack some sense into politicians.
We can do better.