Coming out in elementary school

By David Butler

I woke up with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I really didn’t want to have to do this day. I would rather NOT come out to my seven music classes—over 200 kids. But, I knew that it was the right thing to do. Not just for my students. Not just for those who will one day grow up and identify as queer (they would have the memory of having at least one teacher who was—and that it was ok). And not only for my other students who will eventually (if not already) develop sexual feelings for the other sex, but who will also meet/know many people who are LGBT throughout their lives, perhaps even members of their own families.

I also had to come out to them, for me. I am not myself when I have to lie. When kids ask me if I have a girlfriend, and I just curtly answer “no,” I feel smaller. I feel like a big teachable moment has just slipped by, but on the other hand, I don’t want really to deal with it now. I am trying to get through this music lesson. And I just don’t want to open Pandora’s box. Not true. I do WANT to open it because I am convinced that such a conversation might be the most important thing I could do with them for the whole year. But it would just be easier if I didn’t. A simple “no, I don’t have a girlfriend” to that question and we’re back on track in the lesson.

We are also back on track with heteronormativity within schools. There is something about school spaces that make them particularly heteronormative-like, as part of your job description, you’ve got to check your queer identity at the door of the school to be an acceptable (and good) teacher. No straight teacher, I’m sure, feels this way. No straight teacher would hesitate to mention their husband or wife in the staffroom or in an anecdote to their students. Straight teachers might not think that talking about sexual identity is appropriate in elementary school, yet they do it everyday when they talk about their spouses. It’s implicit and normative.

“What are you doing for Pink T-shirt Day?” my teacher/social activist friend asked me two weeks ago. I wasn’t even aware that it was coming. At first I imagined this would be a good time to offer a lunch-time workshop for my colleagues on some of the children’s book/issues on LGBT families and people. But I knew that wasn’t enough. I knew coming out to the kids was the necessary step, even though it would be so much easier just to ignore this opportunity presented by Pink T-shirt Day.

The hardest part of this coming-out-at-school experience was breaking the silence. I honestly didn’t know if I would have any allies at all. I knew I didn’t have to tell my principal what I was planning, after all the VSB’s policies around LGBTQ issues clearly states my rights to work in an environment that is supportive of queer identities. However, I thought it best to give my principal a heads up—I do have to maintain positive working relationships with my colleagues and I did not want the principal to possibly have to answer phone calls from homophobic parents without being aware of the context.

My principal was great. She listened to my thoughts around the meaning of Pink T-shirt Day as it related to homophobia and she did not miss a beat in assuring me that what I wanted to do was not only appropriate, it would be a special opportunity for students to learn about something that is especially meaningful given their teacher’s passion around issues of homophobia. In a discussion with my VP, I also got the overwhelming sense that I was supported.

Knowing that I had support was not only a relief, it gave me further legitimacy when I approached the homeroom teachers of my music classes. One of the bizarre effects of being in the closet for the last six months at my school is that I have not been able to really establish relationships with my colleagues. I just have always seemed to have light conversations with them, never venturing into dangerous territory. I would have outed myself if any conversation went personal (or even political), but it never seemed to “go” there. Via a letter I handed each teacher on the morning of Pink T-shirt Day, I made my intentions clear. I answered any questions/concerns they had and offered that they could join me in my class. It was a tremendous weight off my shoulders to feel their support at the very moment when I most needed it.

The last stage of this outing adventure was executing my lesson plan on homophobic bullying, a lesson that included brainstorming the words they hear whenever kids step out of (gender) line. Faggot, dyke, homo, queer, lesbian, weirdo, sicko, sissy, etc. were the words that mostly were suggested from the kids from Grade 4 to 7. We also discussed ways that girls and boys are perceived of as weird if they act in ways that are not consistent with gender norms. Girls who play rough sports, boys who play exclusively with girls, and girls who play with action figures were some of the typical infractions that the classes generated.

There were some funny moments. In discussing the term homophobia, some of the younger grades had interesting interpretations. If “homo” means same, and “phobia“ means fear, then homophobia is the fear of people who are just like you. If only that were true. Or this one, homophobia—fear of the possibility that you might grow up to be gay. Then there were some innocent but insightful questions. If a man becomes a woman, can she have a baby? Or, after telling the class how my boyfriend and I were nearly gay-bashed by a group of six men who only “let us go” after we denied we were gay as the trade-off for saving our teeth (or possibly more), one boy asked “Are you still gay?”

Two special moments come to mind though as the most endearing of the day. One quiet girl relayed the story of her mother’s brother (as she put it) who got married to a man and the priest who married them had to wear a bulletproof vest. She’s in Grade 5. And another boy who has been designated with learning disabilities and never ever seems to be following any of my classes took a moment to stop drawing and blurted out, “Sure, I don’t care if you are gay” and immediately went back drawing.

When I got home, I was exhausted but relieved and excited all at the same time. Over 200 of my students had an experience that they will not readily forget. Some of them will still grow up to be homophobic, but I am sure that many of them will never forget that their elementary music teacher (who was always fun in class and even considered cool for playing guitar) was gay.

I hope that I will be a symbol of support to the students who might start to realize their feelings are different from many of their peers. For those students who will grow up to be straight, I hope their knowledge that their fun music teacher was gay will shield them somewhat from the still prevalent messages that portray gay people as lesser. They’ll have first-hand knowledge that that just isn’t true.

David Butler is a first-year elementary school teacher, William Van Horne Elementary School, Vancouver.