On Reciprocity…

A few days ago, I happened to mention that in my younger years I might have been categorized as a “church kid” while teaching. My class was discussing the impact of homophobia, stereotypes, and racialized perceptions of queer sexuality on African American parental expectations of teacher interactions with students in primary and secondary education settings. The discussion came about because were were putting together a hypothetical Honor’s Thesis based on a recent occurrence wherein an an African American middle school instructor came under fire for having his students take his braids out during school hours. It raised a number of questions regarding ethics, history, psychology, pedagogy theories, and best practices. The matter of sexuality was introduced as a potential mitigating factor in how parents respond to notions of “touch” in the classroom. Needless to say, it was quite a conversation and we were putting together an amazing hypothetical thesis.

After class, a male student and two others followed me to my office, asking questions along the way.

“So … you said you were once a ‘church boy’???”

“Yes,” I replied, laughing at the look of shock on his face. My nails were painted white that day, so I kind of understood his surprise. It’s not my practice to shrink or closet myself in the classroom, though sexuality is by no means central to my pedagogical approaches or curriculum unless the course thematically calls for it. But my students know that I identify as queer, and they know that I am generally an open book, a safe person to ask questions if they want to.

I asked him why that shocked him so much and jokingly inquired as to whether my presentation as a queer professor gives the impression that I have always lived “loudly.” He couldn’t really explain his shock, but had a lot of questions about my path and my relationships to spirituality and religion. I, of course, obliged the conversation with my teaching assistant and another female student in the room periodically chiming in as well. We talked about everything from faith to the spectrum of sexualities that exist and everything in between. In the end, it was as very fruitful conversation that I strongly felt fostered understanding and built a bridge between someone for whom queer sexuality was foreign and someone for whom it was not.

When everyone left the room except my TA, I took a deep exasperated breath—not because of the labor of the conversation, but because sometimes “Mondays be Monday-ing.” That particular day started off a little rough and I had been deeply ruminating the disparity between what we as teaching persons give of ourselves inside and outside the classroom and what we get for it in return. Teaching doesn’t just happen in the classroom or through lesson plans; I believe it is the inherent nature of the teacher. We teach everywhere we go and in situations where sometimes we’re not even aware of it. The weight of being an “instructor,” both in profession and character, is heavy, and sometimes we need to be reminded of our ability and the importance of carrying the load in order to keep at it another day.

My TA said, “Doc … I know it’s hard. I know the weight is heavy, and I know sometimes you don’t want to do it; sometimes you don’t want to carry everyone else on your back. But I need you to understand that you are necessary.”

By this point, tears were rolling down my cheeks. He continued, “You literally save lives just by being who you are. Your unapologetic presence—your bold presentation of yourself—assures students that safe spaces exist. They have an idea of what ‘queer’ looks and sounds like, but then they encounter you and all that goes out the window because you don’t shrink yourself. Know that you are necessary and you matter.”

Well, by this time all I could say was, “You gotta get out, man … I don’t want to cry like this today.”

We laughed, he went on about his day, and I was nourished by those words for the next week. In fact, I still am.

I needed someone to show up for me that day, and my students did. For LGBTQ instructors, the classroom can be rife with challenges—especially when we are faced with cultural beliefs, myths, and social anxieties that work to create distance between us and our students. Before we can reach or teach them, we often have to disassemble and deconstruct the ideological walls that create expansive gulfs between us. I am always cognizant that I don’t know my student’s pre-existing exposures and experiences, so it is mandatory that I approach them with care and consideration of the unknown. Though the world society is rapidly changing as we are embracing the need to welcome diversity and inclusion, that doesn’t mean that all the work is done or that that the challenges have all been erased. Fear and apprehension still exist, and we don’t all share the same path to progress. It is possible that we never will, but that doesn’t mean that the educative experiences we share with one another can’t occur often and be mutually beneficial.

Reflecting on that moment, I was reminded that the classroom isn’t just a place where students learn, it is a place where instructors learn also. Building symbiotic relationships with students is the outcome of many things—openness, fearlessness, recognition and affirmation of student diversity, and strategic recognition and affirmation of the multiple ways that our own diversity can shape and inform our pedagogy. For me, the most rewarding teaching experiences are never defined solely by the way I am allowed to shape my student’s minds, but by the ways they are reciprocally able to shape my own.

Once upon a time I believed work spaces were not safe places for instructors to bring their whole selves; I thought that was a dangerous act of academic and professional suicide. In practice, however, I found that that only created further distance and allowed students to view their instructors and something other than humans. Over the past thirteen years, I have learned the immense value of purposiveness in how we show up. When we are not just “going to work,” but “showing up” with intention, a world of opportunity opens up to us—to meet student needs and to be sharpened and shaped into our most effective selves. It requires, however, that we never lose sight of the aspects of our selves and experiences that are “necessary.”

And every now and then, a student will remind you of this when you least expect it.