Family

What I look for when I go into schools is the butch lesbians on staff.  Generally, there is at least one, sometimes two.  They’re extremely readable in all the ways you imagine – hair, clothes, subject area (hello PE teachers, I’m talking to you).  And while I may get some lip from the kids, these teachers sometimes don’t.  As I mentioned in a previous post, they become part of the furniture.  Their reputation, after a year or two is all that students in the school.  And when kids come is as fresh faced 12 year olds, they take the lead from the older kids.  That’s not to say they have a good run of it, but sometimes it’s easier when you’re taken for granted.

I, of course, love seeing them.  In the sea of uber hetro teachers and kids, seeing a queer teacher is like a breath of fresh air.  And maybe that’s another reason I haven’t changed either.  If I feel that way, as an adult with a queer circle of friends, how much a little teenage queer feel to see such a visible sister. 

That’s how I met S____.  The campest boy I’ve ever seen.  He’s up the back of the class, with the girls and does a double take when I come in the room.  He’s got locks of curly brown hair and often (I find out later) gets mistaken for a girl.  It could be anything; his high-pitched voice, his soft hands, his school scarf, plumped up and tied slightly to the side – an effort to make the drab uniform a little more dapper.  He’s glorious, and so not made for this school system.

And as soon as they’re onto student centred work, he’s talking to me.  Invoking the modern incantation of the secret gay handshake/blue star/code word etc.

“Do you like Glee Miss?”

‘Family’ pops up in the strangest of places.