My eyes are scratchy from crying hard last night and intermittently all day long today. From sleeping for only a few fitful hours before I gave up at three o'clock this morning. My head hurts. My heart hurts. I'm so tired, and I should have been in bed a long time ago because tomorrow I need to be back at school an hour earlier than usual, but I can't sleep. I've never been a good sleeper when I'm upset, ever.
I spent the day at school for conferences, and my children had to come with me because they don't have school. Teachers' kids are used to this sort of thing, and actually, I kind of love looking up from my table in the library, parents and teenagers milling around, and seeing my own kids sprawled in the back reading or coloring or watching a DVD on their little portable player. They're so comfortable there, and I took comfort in having them close today. I also just ached. My children. My God. What kind of world are we giving them? My colleague rightly pointed out that our daughters are likely to have fewer freedoms than their mothers and grandmothers. Teaching The Handmaid's Tale seems appropriate right now, but while it's a book I love by one of my favorite writers, I just feel so exhausted and sad when I think about the conversations we're going to have. So many kids talked about it today when they stopped by my table. They get it. They get it. I'm so proud of them.
And speaking of students, listening to some of them talk about what they have to do just to get to school every day just humbles me. They're so matter-of-fact; they do what they need to do. They have to be grown in ways I never did as a teenager. Some of them are probably more grown than I am now.
Knowing that many of them are afraid breaks my heart. Breaks. my. fucking. heart.
And I will respect the privacy and the hearts and souls of my former students who bare those beautiful hearts and souls on Facebook even though I want to share all of their posts here, but please know that their worries and fears are real. They're not exaggerations. And I am afraid for them, too. And I'm more proud of them than I can express for speaking their truth, because they are what is right about this country. They are why I continue to serve public education with passion in a country that shows nothing but contempt for its teachers. And America's hatred of teachers will get worse before it gets better, that much has already been made clear. But my wise and wonderful friend Becca said this morning, "We get up. We go to school. We teach the children. It's what we do."
Today, the parents of a girl I taught last year stopped by my table. I don't teach their daughter anymore, but they wanted to say hello. Before they left, her father touched my arm and said, "You're where you belong. You make a difference you don't even realize." I tried not to tear up, but I couldn't help it: I cried. Of course, today, I cried. I believe they said this to many deserving teachers today, and I am so profoundly grateful. There are good people in the world, in my world. I'm afraid of a lot of people right now, but I have to believe there is more than this, or I couldn't go on.
So I took a lot of bathroom breaks today, just to get myself together. I ran into lots of other teachers doing the very same thing. We stood outside together to breathe. We found each other for hugs, for quick bursts of tears before we went back to our kids and their parents. I work with the very best of the best, and I am clinging to that solidarity. I work with people who love fiercely and tirelessly and who will not stop working for what is good and right even when it feels hopeless, because we teachers have a fierce and unkillable hope burning in our souls. It is the only way we press on. (Dear Colleagues, sometimes you have no idea how desperately I wish I could join you for Happy Hour when I'm at soccer practice or whatever, but please know that I am still so grateful for your camaraderie and solidarity, for your friendship and compassion and inspiration. Sometimes I don't know how to tell you that. It matters, and I love you.)
So anyway, hey, white people! Hey white folks who are surrounded only by other white folks who are writing well-intentioned things about unity or whatever! Do you spend your one wild and precious life with kids who are genuinely terrified that our new president will send them away? No? Then with all due respect, please stop, at least for a little while, realize that you are perfectly fine but not everyone is, and let people grieve. Wildly, desperately, deeply. Look, I believe we all need each other, I really do believe that, but I am also reeling with the realization that there are an awful lot of people who seem to think this country actually just belongs to white folks. And who cheerfully elected a president who trivializes sexual assault, among other things. A man who speaks about women in incredibly degrading and dehumanizing terms. And his supporters do not care, and there are a lot of them. What the actual fuck? So I'm not sure how to reconcile that yet. I don't know what "unity" looks like. Yesterday morning my daughter and I talked about how exciting it was to vote for Hillary. And I might as well tell you all right now that I was excited to vote for Hillary. I didn't "hold my nose and vote." I think the narrative people have created around her is sexist and absurd and built on lies spun by white men. I also know that if you believe that narrative and you're reading this, well, there's nothing I can do to change your mind and, quite frankly, you're probably not going to change mine (especially with a "Share if you agree!"). I was proud to support her yesterday and I am proud today and if you want, I can tell you why I decided I would be behind her all the way back in the winter of 2000 when I was a junior at Concordia College and realizing that what I believed deep in my soul took me far from where I was raised, which was tricky territory to navigate. But today, well, here we are. Now we just get more of the revolting fuckery that half our country is fine to excuse. How do I navigate this territory?
And I mean, I will figure it out. Because Matt and I are doing our damndest to raise a different sort of man, and we are raising a fierce and strong woman. And they both have good men and women in their lives who are the opposite of everything this new leader unapologetically embodies. It's just that it's pretty horrific when I have to acknowledge that we're apparently surrounded by people who have no problem excusing that horrific behavior, and bafflingly, those people also seem to think they have "values" and "morals." Do not speak to me of values and morals. Ever. Is it any wonder I spent hours last night feeling sick to my stomach?
I am going to get up and go to school again. I'm going to dig in. I'm going to raise my children, I'm going to teach these kids as well as I can. I'm going to find hope again: in my colleagues and in our kids. I do believe this, I think. But let people grieve this loss, because it is a loss. Let people be afraid without dismissing or placating them. Even if it's all right for you, it might very well be not all right for someone less privileged and less safe.
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