Kid Talk 101: An Unexpected Conversation About Diversity and Equality

I tutor a young brother a sister in Spanish at a public library. One day, the 7-year-old was teasing me about my boyfriend.

“You have a boyyyyyfriend?” he said. “Do you kissssss him?”

“I’m an adult,” I said. “And my boyfriend and I love each other so yes, we do kiss each other.”

“Ewwww. I’m gonna kiss a boy.”

“Okay,” I said. “But wait until you’re older. You shouldn’t go around school kissing your classmates.”

“Boys can’t kiss boys,” he said.

“Yes they can,” I said. “You can love anyone you want. And when you’re old enough and have someone’s permission, it’s okay to kiss them.”

He wasn’t so pleased with that answer; a little confused, even. Because children are raised that boys kiss girls and girls kiss boys. At what point in their life are they taught that boys also kiss boys and girls also kiss girls?

Kids can be so unpredictable. You never know what they’re going to say, and sometimes their questions and comments put you on the spot with how you are going to respond. I try to prepare myself for the outrageous things kids might say, but I’m not always ready. All I know is that it is important to teach them kindness and acceptance, even if that isn’t the job I was hired for.

This, I think, is why I feel called to be a teacher. More than teaching children the ABCs and how to count, I feel called–compelled even–to teach them how to be kind to each other. To teach them how to use their words to process their feelings, regulate their behavior, and solve problems. To teach them how to be compassionate. To teach them to be activists; to know the difference between right and wrong and to stand up for it, for others.

As a teacher, a parent, or any child caretaker, we need to teach our children–the future generation–more. More than just the definition of prejudice and racism. More than just about the existence of prejudice and racism. We need to show them what we are doing to stop it. We need to gather our children and involve them in the fight for change instead of leaving them on the sidelines watching the world go by.

My town didn’t have a lot of diversity growing up, but my parents took me to the Christian food pantry to help collect and hand out donations. They didn’t stop me from accepting an invitation at 10 years old from my Muslim friend to attend a service at her mosque.

I see now, though, that diversity is a multi-faceted gem, and while there are things we have done to embrace it, there is always so much more we can and must do.

How will you show the future generation you care?

Happy Pride: Seattle, This Is What I’m Most Grateful For

Happy pride month, peopleeeee!

I’ve lived in Seattle three-and-a-half years now, the longest my adult self has ever lived in a place. I’m grateful for the mountain ranges dotting the horizon every which way I look. I’m grateful for the smell of pine trees in urban parks. I’m grateful for the abundance of bike lanes (and less grateful for the abundance of hills).

But what I’m most grateful for is how Seattle has taught me to be more open-minded than I thought I was.

I grew up in small white suburbia, and, perhaps due to my love of the Spanish language and dreams of the Amazon rainforest, nurtured a taste for culture and landscapes outside my sheltered bubble. In all my travels, I have witnessed poverty first-hand, lived in developing countries, and experienced religious ceremonies vastly different from my Catholic upbringing.

I thought that my eyes had been opened enough to accept and love people for all that they are–poor or rich, black or white, gay or straight, overweight or skinny, liberal or conservative. I thought that I saw people for their personalities, not for what they looked like or how they aligned their beliefs or orientations.

Then I moved to Seattle.

Seattle is the first place (other than a brief unplanned viewing of a drag show in Cardiff, Wales), that I met a trans person–many trans people. Seattle is the first place where I walked into a restroom marked “all genders”–and pretty much do on a daily basis when I’m out and about the city. It’s the first place I learned to ask people their preferred pronoun and a place where I use “they” instead of “he/she” frequently for people I meet.

One of my best friends out here is covered in tattoos, wears all black, and has a half shaved head. She identifies as pansexual. She is someone I honestly probably would not have felt comfortable approaching all those moons ago when I thought I was open-minded but really had a great deal to learn. I’m ashamed to admit that but you all know how I feel about being real and true, and it shows that growth is always attainable. This friend has taught me so much about the queer community, one that she is so open about and so actively supporting. And for her guidance and patience and friendship, I’m forever grateful.

I still make mistakes. I sometimes slip up because my mind sees a non-binary individual as outwardly female and I subconsciously associate this person with the “she” pronoun. But when I make mistakes, I am so often corrected with love and respect and understanding.

I’m still learning. I’m learning what it means to be anything other than cisgendered or my straight ally identity. As in literally, I’ve had to educate myself on the ever-evolving LGBTQIA acronym. (We all should, really.)

But most of all, what I’m learning is that we are all human, and instead of festering hate and disrespect, we should embrace the uniqueness of the evolution of humanity. We should actually start living by that Pride motto that’s hashtagged so often but perhaps not fully understood by people like my 18-year-old sheltered self: Love is (like really is) love.