I was asked to mentor some high school kids working on writing business plans. I cheerfully accepted. I love working with kids, in any capacity. I always walk away knowing my experiences have taught them something. It's a great feeling.
When I walk into the school to meet these kids, I know I will immediately scan the group with gaydar. Even if they don't know that particular thing about them, I will. I will hope the students that I detect will be part of my team. I want the LGBT kids, I just cannot ask for them.
Whenever I am in an situation where there are kids, I want to whip out my "GAY" cape and don a T-shirt that says, "I am here. I am grown. I survived, I can show you how. Just ask me"
I want to be the voice for them, the confidence they lack, the tough exterior they need to ward off society. I want to be the future that looks bright, the sign of possibility and the determination that often slips from their grasps in frustration. I want to be their hope.
I am not extraordinary. As a matter of fact, I am pretty much ordinary. These kids cant tell where I have come from, they cant see where I have been. They will most likely never realize I have been where they are now. They will go on about their days with their feelings unexpressed, their fears mounting and their options seemingly nonexistent.
I was that kid. I wish someone would have worn that GAY cape for me. I wish I had known someone, anyone, that made it through. Someone that validated the confusion, the self loathing, the lack of understanding. A person, that through words or actions, could have assured me what I was feeling was right, OK and potentially amazing. My gay super hero would have been a phone number to call when I spent days crying in my room to my posters. They would have been someone who could help me see that childhood is really such a short period of time even though it felt like an eternity passing through.
Recently I had a conversation with someone regarding the lack of resources for LGBT kids in my neighboring communities. Fear was the main reason that came up again and again for keeping them away. Parents fear for their gay children exposed in a public place. Students fear for their safety from hate filled classmates. Administrators fear liability. Liability. Who is liable for these kids' well being? For their sense of self? For their understanding of love? Who is liable when these kids commit suicide?
When I walk into that school I will scan the group. I will look for that familiar face staring back at me. I will wish I had my cape on. I will try to tell them silently that high school is completely different from real life. I will try to convey that the feelings they are experiencing are real and OK. I will try to say "just hang in there. These people will mean nothing compared to what you will mean to yourself someday".
When I walk into the school to meet these kids, I know I will immediately scan the group with gaydar. Even if they don't know that particular thing about them, I will. I will hope the students that I detect will be part of my team. I want the LGBT kids, I just cannot ask for them.
Whenever I am in an situation where there are kids, I want to whip out my "GAY" cape and don a T-shirt that says, "I am here. I am grown. I survived, I can show you how. Just ask me"
I want to be the voice for them, the confidence they lack, the tough exterior they need to ward off society. I want to be the future that looks bright, the sign of possibility and the determination that often slips from their grasps in frustration. I want to be their hope.
I am not extraordinary. As a matter of fact, I am pretty much ordinary. These kids cant tell where I have come from, they cant see where I have been. They will most likely never realize I have been where they are now. They will go on about their days with their feelings unexpressed, their fears mounting and their options seemingly nonexistent.
I was that kid. I wish someone would have worn that GAY cape for me. I wish I had known someone, anyone, that made it through. Someone that validated the confusion, the self loathing, the lack of understanding. A person, that through words or actions, could have assured me what I was feeling was right, OK and potentially amazing. My gay super hero would have been a phone number to call when I spent days crying in my room to my posters. They would have been someone who could help me see that childhood is really such a short period of time even though it felt like an eternity passing through.
Recently I had a conversation with someone regarding the lack of resources for LGBT kids in my neighboring communities. Fear was the main reason that came up again and again for keeping them away. Parents fear for their gay children exposed in a public place. Students fear for their safety from hate filled classmates. Administrators fear liability. Liability. Who is liable for these kids' well being? For their sense of self? For their understanding of love? Who is liable when these kids commit suicide?
When I walk into that school I will scan the group. I will look for that familiar face staring back at me. I will wish I had my cape on. I will try to tell them silently that high school is completely different from real life. I will try to convey that the feelings they are experiencing are real and OK. I will try to say "just hang in there. These people will mean nothing compared to what you will mean to yourself someday".
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