i should have said something but i didn't

I am trying to remember when I first figured out what being gay meant.

It sure wasn't from my parents, who didn't talk about anything of a sexual nature.

It wasn't from sex ed at school, which I didn't take anyway because my mom thought she would do a better job. (See above.)

It wasn't from my friends who were all at least as naive as me.

Maybe I read about it in a book. I was maybe in grade 11 or so when I kind of figured it out.  Knowing me, I probably heard the word "homosexual" and then looked it up in the dictionary. I was kind of like, "Oh. Is that a thing?" I didn't really get it. I thought about it a bit. What did that really mean? Like, what were the mechanics of it? Did I know anyone gay? I didn't think so. Was I attracted to women? I didn't think so. I probably should have asked my mom about it. I know my brother would have- he was always asking her questions that made her squeamish and she always gave him some kind of honest answer. But it seemed like a question I shouldn't ask, so I didn't.

I definitely never heard the word "gay" when I was that age, although boys would call other boys "faggots" and I knew they didn't mean anything good with that word, not the way they said it anyway. But the cool boys, the bully boys, you didn't want to get on their bad side. Maybe you would be their next victim, so I never said anything. What did I know, anyway?

When I got to university, guys would talk about being creeped out by a certain guy in res who wore blouses and makeup. He had them on edge. They way they talked, they would have beaten him up if he had made any overtures toward them, but to the best of my knowledge he only ever talked to girls. The hockey playing assholes on my floor in Lister thought he was creepy so I laughed along with them. 

The first summer I worked in the library, someone told me that one of my co-workers was gay. I looked for some kind of sign that set him apart but there wasn't one. Sometimes he wore pastel plaid polyester pants, but in in his other job he was a golf pro, so I didn't think much about that. He smoked with his mom on break and went out drinking with his friends when he wasn't golfing. I never thought much about what he did in his sex life.  I don't think I thought much about what anyone did in their private time. 

Then I started teaching and suddenly boys were calling each other "gay", or "gaylord" and things were "gay" too, like clothes or mannerisms or a car they didn't like. It wasn't necessarily a term applied to things that were effeminate- just things that were different in a certain way. So as teachers we would say something. Like "stop that" or "do you know what that term means?" or "are you uncomfortable with your own sexuality?" So we knew we were supposed to say something, but it wasn't much. Overall, I would say we were mostly really bad at it.

Somewhere between the time I started teaching and my own kids went to school, the curriculum began shifting and we teachers started teaching kids that who you loved was your own business and that was all okay. Jenny could have two moms and that constituted a family. Billy could play with dolls and Susy could want live with another girl when she grew up and there was nothing wrong with any of that. That's what we wanted our own kids to believe and when some of their own close relatives came out, we didn't even talk about it. They knew their uncle lived with a man, and when their aunt and her friend visited, they shared a bed and...well...whatever.  We probably should have said something but I kind of thought by saying something, we were implying there was something wrong with their lifestyle. Honestly, I just didn't want to talk about it. In retrospect, saying nothing was wrong. We should have said something.  But we didn't.

My parents raised me to believe that there is more than one way to be in this world and it's not up to us to judge. As long as you aren't hurting anyone, so what? Who cares what two consenting adults do? And what is a family, anyway? I had two adopted siblings, and we were a family. My cousin lived with her mom and granny and an old lady that used to be the family governess and they were a family too. My great aunts lived together on a farm with no men around. One of my cousins had a kid and no husband and that was fine. Who were we to say what was okay? 

But a lot of people don't think that way. Boys play with trucks and play hockey. Girls like to cook and play dolls and have babies and do crafts.  Sex is between a man and a woman. For them, thinking there more than one right way to be in this world is hard. How can a man love another man? How can a little girl feel in her bones that she is a boy? They don't feel that way, so how can anyone else? So that's what they teach their kids. And that's how they want their kids taught. There is one way, it's their way, and no other way is right.

Recently I was talking to my sister-in-law who is principal of a large elementary school in Alberta. So much outrage and misinformation about what schools teach about gender identity. It is divisive and hurtful.  Parents pulling their kids out of school because they don't want their kids to accept gay and trans people. Christians and Muslims and others uniting against the "gay agenda."  Like teachers could make a kid be gay by telling them it exists. Like the world will end if two women get married. 

The other day a Facebook "friend" posted an offensive meme featuring a rainbow coloured teacher-demon in an elementary school classroom. I was shocked. I felt like saying, "Geez Tony, I didn't have you figured as a homophobic teacher-hater." But I didn't say anything and by the time I figured out how to approach it, the meme was gone. Whether he took it down or Facebook deleted it, I don't know. I should have said something, but I didn't.

When I grew up, I was ignorant about many things. Knowing nothing was easy for me. But it sure could not have been easy for those outside the "norm". I was naive when I was a kid. I am naive now. The way I see it, children are born full of promise. Those children should be accepted. They should be allowed - no, encouraged- to be their own best self, even if takes awhile to figure that out. My sister put it well on her application to adopt. When she was asked what she thought her job was as a parent, she said "Figuring out who my child is meant to be and helping them become that person."  

Why does it have to be so hard?