I spent three semesters of my undergrad teaching poetry workshops and creativity classes in sixth and seventh grade classrooms around Tucson. No matter what I challenged the students to do or what outcome I anticipated, it was beautiful to watch different minds at work and see how each would respond to the tasks I gave them. The classes reacted to my presence and the content of my lessons in many different ways, and these reactions taught me something new each time.  

One thing that stood out about my most recent class of sixth grade students was their interest in my life and personality. I could see that they were curious and slightly confused about the way I looked, and how I behaved and expressed myself. I was my usual animated, authentic self--I laughed far too loud and tried to remain overly excited by every move the students made with their writing or participation in the lesson. This was my way of encouraging them to match my energy, so I could hopefully pull creative work out of them. My openly queer approach to communication was not only effective in getting the class to engage and open up, it also got the gears in their heads turning in ways that they did not in mine when I was their age. While I didn’t notice it at first, I was one of their first openly queer leaders, and they were utterly fascinated by my presence in their classroom. 

After a while, I had to notice. These students not only recognized that I was queer, but they weren’t fixated on finding out for sure or asking me inappropriate questions, which I’d experienced before. In previous classes, students immediately noticed my queerness and couldn’t help but make it a focus that completely distracted from their ability to learn from me. They asked me about my love life, and acted uncomfortable when I did anything considered typically "feminine". Once, three students who were not even in my class saw me in the hallway, giggled and began to chant as they moved away from me, "Are you gay?! Are you gay?! Are you gay?!" in unison at the top of their lungs.  

These particular sixth graders were different. They seemed excited by the presence of someone who refused to conform in the ways they've been taught to and inspired by my unapologetic approach to how I was perceived. It started out with small things, like students asking me how old I was or complimenting my clothing (this was particularly interesting, because most of the time I could tell that it was not that they actually liked what I was wearing, but rather noticed the uniqueness of it and had to comment). They asked me to wear more makeup to class, because I overheard a conversation some students were having about makeup and had knowledge of the subject; asked me about my life outside of teaching; and laughed out loud and were shocked by references I made, surprised that I knew about things like beauty Youtubers, newer pop culture references, and memes. Eventually, a student asked me a very uncomfortable question in a very respectful way: “People say that you’re gay, don’t they Mister?” 

I immediately became very nervous, my own middle school fears and anxieties returning to the front of my brain. How should I answer without making it the focus or distracting from learning? How could I make this a teaching moment? Finally, after rolling through many answers in my head, I spat out, “Of course, but it doesn’t matter if other people say it, it only matters if I say it, right?” She smiled and nodded. I guessed, by her reaction, that this was a question she’d been asked multiple times, and that she recognized that I was also the type of person others could “see” as “gay”. She seemed to feel a kinship or a sense of relief that someone else, especially in a leadership position at school, was in a similar situation. 

Another time a student was sharing a poem they wrote with the class. They began confidently, enjoying the eyes on them and the opportunity to express their extremely vibrant ideas. But they stopped midway, and began to mumble, “Oh, I do not want to read this part,” skipped the line, and finished. Later, I went up to the student and asked about that moment. As I walked up, they were already discussing it in their table group. One student asked, “What did you skip? Oh, was it about your transgender stuff or whatever?” in a very disgusted and mocking voice. I immediately interjected with a simple, “Is that a bad thing? What would be wrong with that?” This didn’t upset the student, and they sort of laughed it off but again, the gears turned. 

These experiences made me realize something vital about the ways in which we teach and raise children. It’s so easy to refuse to discuss uncomfortable things with kids in the name of “protecting” them, and to keep students in the dark about topics that make us uncomfortable simply because “they are too young” or we “do not want to expose them or confuse them anymore than they already are.” I never came out to my students; I never talked about sexuality nor did I intentionally push any overtly LGTBQ+ content in my lessons (mostly due to fear that teachers or parents would blame me for "confusing" their students or pushing something down their throats). My sheer presence was enough to expose them to queerness.  

Whether any of these students grow up to discover they are queer in some fashion or not, it’s important that all middle school students have exposure and interactions with people like me. The world we live in today is filled with polarization and differences of opinion and lifestyle continue to be reasons to dehumanize. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I wasn’t doing what I could to stop this hateful mainstream narrative from impacting our children. If students are afraid or uncomfortable with someone like me simply because they have no exposure to LGBTQ people then we--the adults responsible for shaping young minds--are not doing enough to inspire positive and logical thinking in our society. 

These small exposures are vital to queer students. It teaches them that they exist, they are not alone, and that they can become leaders and influencers. When queer youth see people like them in positions that they wish to be in, they may become inspired to work harder towards their goals. These small exposures are also vital to all students because at this point in our society it is time to stop “hiding” certain groups from children simply because they are “not old enough”--for it’s that exact idea that perpetuates hatred toward and discomfort for people who are different.  

Benny Sisson is a recent graduate of the University of Arizona's undergraduate creative writing program in poetry and a teaching artist with Writing the Community. In Fall 2018, Benny plans to move east and work toward an MFA in poetry from Adelphi University on Long Island, NY. They will continue teaching and taking all they have learned here in the desert with them, always.