We're NOT all the same on the inside!

Ok, ok, fine. It's true. I keep trying to claim that a given topic is my soapiest soapbox, but... I actually seem to have a lot of those.

Yesterday, I realized that I feel the need to preface my dislike for some things with "Not on principle or anything, but--" For example, "Not on principle or anything, but I don't really go to the cinema. It's just so expensive for what it is." I have so many principles that I get so very impassioned about, I feel the need to explain when they are not the guiding force at hand. I imagine this makes a me a real gem to be around. A super low-key conversationalist.

But here we are, and what are we to do? I'm impassioned, and this whole blog is mine to [virtually] stand on as much as I like. SO THERE.

Of course, this brings us to...

OH MY GOD STOP TEACHING THAT "WE'RE ALL THE SAME ON THE INSIDE." JUST STOP IT ALREADY.

Yes, I know, I do! I know that the intention is to teach empathy and compassion and what-have-you. But-- teaching that by arguing that we're all the same seems a bit misguided to me.

After all, it isn't that impressive to be kind to people who are the same as you. This intended message gets a bit tainted.  If we're all just the same, then what do we have to learn from each other? What room do we have to reflect on others' experiences? If we're all the same, then how do we talk about our differences? And it's our differences that make us spectacular.

Plus, we're NOT all the same on the inside. Yes, absolutely, we all share a basic humanity, and it's important to acknowledge that-- but if you're talking with someone who needs it pointed out that we are all human, then, really, I'm not sure what you can realistically hope to get out of that conversation.

But we're not all the same. We're not, and that's great. Who I am as a person would be fundamentally different if I was black or Latina or Christian or Muslim or disabled or a man. I wouldn't be better or worse (well, probably), but my lived experiences would be different-- the world would treat me differently, I would respond differently, and I would grow and develop differently.

What bothers me most about this "we're all the same on the inside" is the erasure of differences (and of the conversation about differences), which seems to imply that differences are bad or shameful-- or that seeing them is.

We've spent years shying away from uncomfortable conversations, but it's time to get down to it. Let's dig in. Kids are so, so capable, and we need to give them the benefit of believing that they can be compassionate and empathetic without needing to see themselves reflected 100% of the time. We can hold up the mirrors to other people for a while and reflect their stories, too.

Also? It's ok to be uncomfortable. Settle in.

JUST after I wrote this post, I saw Brene Brown posted this image to her Facebook page. It's perfect.

Don't say you don't see color. Say that you are so glad there are so many different people in the world.

Don't loudly and obviously shush a child who asks about a person with a disability. Tell them that every body is different, and we only get to comment on our own.

Don't lower your voice when you say the word "gay" (and for the love of love, don't use the word as an insult. Aren't we past that already?). Talk openly and casually about lots of different types of relationships.

Don't talk about "those people." Respectfully name the group you're talking about.

Fill your library and your Netflix queue and your home museum and your eyes with work created by and about people of diverse backgrounds.

Not every conversation needs to be A Teachable Moment (TM), but every conversation is a moment in which to learn.

Let's teach our kids that we're different-- and that is something to celebrate.

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It's a Phase

"Are there actually any straight people here?" a member of QUILTBAG*, our GSA**, asked as she looked around the room.

"Here!" Two of our most enthusiastic members (ok, they're all enthusiastic) waved cheerfully.

"Oh, it's ok," I reassured them. "It's just a phase."

Everyone laughed.

I'm pretty sure every kid in that room has been told by a friend or family member that what they were experiencing is "just a phase."

According to Merriam-Webster, a "phase" can be defined as a distinguishable part in a course, development, or cycle.

So, YES! Sure! Absolutely! What the kids are experiencing is absolutely a phase, because it's part of their development. Maybe the phase will be a week, maybe it will be a year, or maybe it will last the rest of their lives. The beauty of this is that it does not matter.

Just because something is a phase does not make it less real. If I started eating meat tomorrow, it wouldn't make the past 15 years any less vegetarian. If my favorite color becomes yellow, it doesn't mean I didn't "really" like green. If my love of teaching persists through my entire life, that won't somehow "justify" my early years as a teacher.

And really, what's to be gained by discounting another person's identity? If it's transitory, we've... what? Mistakenly called them by the pronouns they were more comfortable with for a while? Fallaciously given them a rainbow pin? Now we have to... call them by a different name that is important to them? I, for one, think I can handle that level of flexibility or disruption.

What's the downside, exactly, of accepting who they are? Of accepting who we are?

This is where I get irritating and strident. I'm afraid you have to imagine this being shrieked from the top of a pile of soapboxes: Let's OWN our phases, however long they last, and LET OTHERS OWN THEIRS. Phases are real! Phases are GREAT! Let's celebrate ALL of the phases, because every one of them is part of the spectacular people we get to know.

When we were working on gender unicorns last week, it was uplifting and warming to hear kids consider the spectrums of their identities. They'd consider their options and shade in bars to different levels. Some of them were careful and deliberate, making sure their unicorns were perfect representations of themselves at that moment. Others were more slapdash, grinning at each other, "Oh, who knows. I'm still figuring this out. So maybe... kind of like this?" They'd look over at each other's unicorns, admiring both the results and the process. They were ok with themselves, and they were ok with each other.

It's all a phase.

The moon is no more or less a moon depending on what part of the month you look at it.

*The name of our school's Gender and Sexuality Alliance-- it stands for Queer, Undecided, Intersex, Lesbian, Trans*, Bisexual, Agender/Asexual, Genderqueer/Gay.

**Gender and Sexuality Alliance (as you have, presumably, discerned from the above note). These used to be called Gay-Straight Alliances, but has changed in recent years to more accurately encompass the breadth and depth of the community.

We Teach What We Learn

When I was about 4, I decided I really wanted to try taking a shower with my socks on. Not because wet socks are pleasant, of course (they are most definitely, definitely not), but because it was so contrary to the very nature of both showers and socks. It was weird for the sake of weird, and that intrigued me. I asked my mom if I could give this peculiar experience a go...

So I tried taking a shower with my socks on.

Socks I will not be wearing in the shower, because I know better now.
Bonus cat paw, that also know better than to include in the shower. 

A little later, when I was maybe 8, I decided I wanted to bake cookies without a recipe-- just make the whole plan up, based on my (admittedly limited) knowledge of baking. Mom said it was ok, as long as she got to help with the oven...

So I did. (I learned an important lesson: just because a substance is white and granulated does not make it sugar... and a cup of salt is very, very different from a cup of sugar.)


For my 10th birthday, Mom needed to hide the scavenger hunt goodies, and she needed us out of the way. She herded my group of friends into our small playroom, and left us with colored pencils, encouraging us to decorate the blank, white walls.

So we did. (And, yes, that was my best birthday ever. Thank you for asking.)

My mom is a teacher-- not just in the elementary school where she worked, but at home with my siblings and me. I'm sure she must have occasionally said no to ideas simply because she was too tired or too busy, but I don't remember that. I remember the yeses-- the opportunity to try things out for myself, to do things I was not quite old enough for, or also a little bit too old for. I grew up knowing that "yes" was a reasonable answer, that messy wasn't bad, and that experience is far more educational than any lecture.

Her mom was a teacher before her, and I am a teacher now, too. I'm not sure if it's genetic, but it's definitely learned. When students ask if they can do something, I always think about it. Any student of mine will tell you that I don't say yes to everything, but I hope they would also tell you that I genuinely consider their ideas-- and that if I say no, I have a good reason.

There are so many things I can say yes to, and those things affect their learning either positively or neutrally.

I have my hills to die on (for goodness' sake, stop talking when I am talking), but I will absolutely take students' ideas into consideration...

...which is why we once had a round of Otter Pops in the middle of fifth period, or why we ran outside to stand in the buckets of snow that poured down on Friday, or why sometimes kids sit under their desks to work. It's why we're currently putting Marcus and Narcissa Whitman on trial, in a full-on courtroom case, rather than just writing argumentative paragraphs (though we'll do that, too!). It's why we spend 5 minutes outside, rainbow-hunting, if the weather suggests the colors are just waiting to be spotted.

It's why my classroom contains a mix of chairs, desks, standing desks, Hokki stools, yoga ball chairs, floor pillows, and stuffed animals.

It's why we drink tea.

And yeah, sometimes that takes a few minutes away from the "Washington State History" part of the curriculum, but there's a lot I'm trying teach other than that.

And if they also learn that it's worth asking for outrageous, joyful things, because sometimes the answer is yes?

That's a lesson I'm fine with teaching. It's one, after all, that I'm really glad to have learned.