By Dr. Katie Cramer ***The following post was originally posted on Dr. Cramer's personal blog, which can be found here. In her groundbreaking book Cultivating genius: An equity framework for culturally and historically responsive literacy, Dr. Gholdy Muhammad convincingly argues that Black and Brown excellence has been erased from our curriculums and that contemporary education prioritizes the teaching of basic skills to the detriment of our students, particularly our students of color. To address these significant issues, Muhammad (2020) developed the Historically Responsive Literacy (HRL) Framework based on her research on Black Literary Societies of the early 1800s in which “literacy was not just for self-enjoyment or fulfillment, it was tied to action and efforts to shape the sociopolitical landscape of a country that was founded on oppression” (p. 22). The four pursuits of the HRL Framework The HRL Framework features four interwoven pursuits that also align with those of the Black Literary Societies of the early 19th century:
In her book, Muhammad argues that the HRL Framework is useful in all content areas at all levels. She explores each of the four pursuits in detail and convincingly argues the value of each one. For example, in describing identity development, Muhammad (2020) reminds us that identity was stripped from enslaved Africans and so it is vital that people of color know themselves in order to tell their own stories (p. 64). We must encourage our students to speak for themselves, and we must listen. We must also interrogate and resist our own deficit thinking (e.g., labeling students first/only as “at risk,” “defiant, “unmotivated, “tier 3”), and instead take an appreciative stance toward their existing literacies (Bomer, 2011, p. 21). We must check our (colleagues’) bias when speaking about students who have been and continue to be marginalized in schools. We must listen to Muhammad’s words: “I have never met an unmotivated child; I have, however, ‘met’ unmotivating curriculum and instruction” (2020, p. 65). Indeed, our students’ identity stories must begin with their excellence (Muhammad, 2020, p. 67). Erasure of Black and Brown Excellence Dr. Muhammad convincingly argues that knowledge of Black Literary Societies and Black and Brown excellence has been erased from our curriculums throughout PreK-16, including in teacher education programs. Like Larry Ferlazzo (2020), I am embarrassed to admit that I had never heard of Black Literary Societies before reading her book. She urges teacher educators (those who prepare future teachers) toward the following pursuits:
Exploring the HRL Framework As teachers (at all levels), we must interrogate our own practice using the HRL framework, asking ourselves for each pursuit: “Where is the evidence in my practice?” and “What are my goals for improvement?” To engage in this work, I urge you to review questions for reflection from Dr. Muhammad that accompany each pursuit and consider how you might revise (or design new) lessons/units to fulfill these pursuits—and engage in your own intellectual development by exploring Dr. Muhammad’s work further (see links the list of references below): Identity
Skills
Intellect
Criticality
Friends, we must interrogate our curriculums—the ones we design AND the ones provided by our school districts. As Dr. Muhammad (2021) reminds us, we “have enough genius to do this work.” So let us begin. References Bomer, R. (2011). Building adolescent literacy in today’s English classrooms. Heinemann. Ferlazzo, L. (2020 Jan. 28). Author interview with Dr. Gholdy Muhammad: “Cultivating genius.” Edweek. https://www.edweek.org Muhammad, G. (2020). Cultivating genius: An equity framework for culturally and historically responsive literacy. Scholastic. Muhammad, G. (2021 Mar. 17). Cultivating genius and joy: An equity model for culturally and historically responsive literacy [Webinar]. WRITE Center. https://www.writecenter.org/webinars.html Further reading Learn more about Dr. Gholdy Muhammad by viewing her faculty profile at Georgia State University. For more information on Black Literary Societies, read Cultivating Genius and/or Forgotten readers: Recovering the lost history of African American literary societies (2002) by Elizabeth McHenry, the first chapter of which is available HERE.  About the Author
Katherine Mason Cramer is a former middle school English teacher and a professor of English Education at Wichita State University. She has been a KATE member since 2010 and an NCTE member since 2000. She serves on the KATE Executive Board, and has served as Editor of Kansas English since 2017. She can be reached at [email protected]. By Deborah McNemee Dear KATE, When we finally rang in 2021, KATE blog committee planned to post a welcome to the new year blog. And then… Well, let’s just say this isn’t the new year post we’d planned. Once again teachers have been handed the dilemma of figuring out how to navigate what life just handed us. Part of the mission of KATE is to provide a forum for dialogue and collegiality among Kansas teachers of English Language Arts and to provide leadership and direction for instruction. We serve all Kansas ELA teachers. ELA is for everyone. It says so on our webpage. We know, however, the challenges of teaching English language arts without touching upon controversial topics. On Patriot’s Day, I always have some kind of memorializing activity. The motto associated with 9/11 is We Will Never Forget. I remember where I was that day. I was locked in the surreality of the rite- of - passage apple orchard field trip with my second grade daughter. She and her friends romped happily through the grounds, picking fruit and pushing each other too high on the tire swing until the teacher came over and told them to stop. It wasn’t safe. All the while, I couldn't help myself from sneaking back to my car for updates on the crumpled towers and decimated lives. I take the 9/11 motto seriously and personally. In order to never forget, it’s the responsibility of those of us who lived through it to pass the memory on to those who weren’t even born yet. As a teacher, the responsibility weighs heavily. So, I do the Patriots Day activity. This year, I showed an inspiring video, ESPN’s The Man with the Red Bandana. The next day, a father of a Muslim student called the school to complain. He felt the subject was too controversial to bring up in class. He never actually contacted me, but when I was told of his concern, I responded with a sincere letter explaining how in AP Lang, that’s what we do. We discuss controversial topics. I apologized for any emotional discomfort and assured him that I do my absolute best to protect my students while also teaching them how to engage in difficult conversations. He must have been appeased because I never heard back. However, that weight of responsibility pressed even harder. On January 6th, teacher social media filled up with educators wondering how to approach students the next day. As one might expect with social media, a lot of people had a lot of opinions on exactly how teachers should handle their students. The KATE Facebook page, however, was silent. At first, I wondered if someone would post something. If someone else would fire back. If the divisiveness might infiltrate our amazing group. It didn’t. But we were silent. And I wondered, too, what the silence meant. Today, I think I have an answer. I think it means we’re okay. I think it means that we completely understand the concept that ELA is for everyone. KATE is a non-political entity, or at least I believe we try to be. Dealing with difficult discussion is an integral part of an English teacher’s job. It’s probably perfectly fine for someone to post on KATE Facebook a suggestion on how to handle the events of January 6th or 9/11 or BLM or any other controversial thing. I would hope we would be wise and open minded enough to react in the way we expect our students to react--with respect and dignity and acceptance of varying viewpoints. But you know what else, I also think it’s perfectly fine that we chose silence. You know that feeling of gathering your warm cat into your lap and snuggling to his muffled purr while the hardness of the world melts away? I think that can be KATE, too. We’re in this together. We know that. The personal connections we make during our book clubs and meetings and conferences run deep. We know someone has our back. That’s my hope, that you know that KATE has your back. If you don’t know that, if you don’t feel you have a KATE member you can reach out to individually, here is a link to our board members. I know they would be happy and honored to offer advice, or a listening ear, or maybe even a purring cat. ELA is for everyone. Be strong. Be well. You are where you belong.  About the Author
Deborah McNemee teaches at Andover Central High School where a culture of reading is alive and well. She creates a culture of reading with her students by annually hosting a project based event in partnership with Big Read Wichita. She facilitates a writing culture through encouraging involvement with the NaNowriMo Young Writers Program and submitting student work to Voices of Kansas. Her favorite books to read outside of school are classics. Check out her blog about keeping classics relevant for kids at www.KeepingClassics.com. By Erica Shook  Though I am a vocal proponent of getting more contemporary YA lit. into the hands of our students, I do still enjoy teaching some of the classics. The balance in my classroom has come from connecting classic and contemporary works. For example, after we read Beowulf together in class, students choose from four different contemporary novels that they read together in small groups and then connected back to Beowulf (Kendare Blake’s Anna Dressed in Blood, Moira Young’s Blood Red Road, Marie Lu’s Legend, or Neal Shusterman’s Unwind). As an avid reader, my brain is constantly looking for text connections. And with increasing frequency, I find myself connecting current events to texts as well. The current reality for teachers has caused me to do just that. I have adapted what follows a bit because I originally wrote and presented it to our school board to try to build empathy among them for the load teachers are currently carrying. That is what English teachers do, right? Use writing and books to build empathy? The message, however, remains the same. Much like the soldiers in Tim O’Brien’s book The Things They Carried, what teachers carry is partly a function of experience, partly a function of specialty, and partly born of necessity. We carry a veritable rainbow of Expo markers--some that work well, some that we are trying to squeeze the last bit of ink out of; notebook paper; construction paper, printing paper, butcher paper, card stock, poster board; glue; scissors; duct tape, scotch tape, masking tape, painters tape, packaging tape, book repair tape; lab supplies; paper clips; pencils, pens, markers, sharpies, crayons, colored pencils; paint; bulletin board border; rulers; kleenex; band aids; Post-it notes; keys; white out; rubberbands; staplers; index cards; note cards; popsicle sticks; candy; books, books, books; computers, charging cords, cables; granola bars; crackers; chocolate; hand sanitizer, Virex, masks; gallons of coffee; water bottles with times on the side to remind us to stay hydrated; stacks and stacks of papers to grade; and, Flairs in every color. I won’t bore you with the precise weight of each of these items, but know that combined, these things are heavy--and we probably paid for most of them out-of-pocket. As with O’Brien’s characters, the things teachers carry, though, are both literal and figurative. We also carry the professional development that we don’t have time to work with and implement; field trips we can’t experience; technology that doesn’t always work; lesson plans that implode because they were better on paper and have to be reworked on the spot; our own families that don’t always get our full attention when we are at home; dusting, laundry, and dishes that sometimes pile up; continuing education credits; students in our classrooms who struggle (both academically and emotionally) but whom we don’t have time to work with one-on-one; hundreds of decisions every hour--many of them split second; students who are suffering because of bullying; students who are hungry or tired; students who are neglected or abused; students who have lost loved ones or friends; students who feel they can’t share their true identity; students who rarely see themselves reflected in curriculum; students’ failures; students’ successes; students’ smiles; students’ tears; students who have been lost in accidents; students who have contemplated suicide; students who have taken their lives before they’ve really had a chance to live them; and, more love than any human heart should be able to hold for every single one of them who ever passes through our doors. The weight of these things is incredibly heavy. Sometimes almost unbearably so. But we carry it because we love what we do, and we love our students. It genuinely is who we are. But this year, we also carry the weight of students in the classroom and at home with technology that glitches or crashes; catching up students who missed class or missed parts of instructions because of those glitches and crashes; students and staff in quarantine; finding ways to provide equitable opportunities to in-person and remote students alike; students embarrassed to turn on cameras or too shy to unmute microphones; lost instruction time for more sanitizing; the endless, endless emails; the extra prep needed to make sure students at home have the materials they need ahead of time to actively participate in class; time spent converting curriculum to digital versions of itself; learning new tools to do so; needing to collaborate with colleagues with no time to do it; building the relationships and giving the hugs our students need while maintaining social distancing to keep everyone healthy and at school; knowing social-emotional needs are not being met; understanding why some of our students have chosen remote learning but missing having their masked faces in class with us; helping our own children be successful with their learning; the overwhelming guilt for the things we know are necessary but are beyond our ability to do; balancing it all; balancing the emotions; the all-encompassing exhaustion; and listening to one person after another tell us we can’t pour from an empty cup when we rarely have a chance to fill it or suggesting what we need is to take a mental health day with no understanding that the things we carry never get lighter for having done so--it just buys us a bit more time before we collapse under the physical, mental, and emotional weight. Kansas is already experiencing a teacher shortage it will take years to get ahead of, and many more will leave the profession this year, maybe even at the end of this semester, because of the toll the weight of the things they carry is taking. I am concerned for Kansas teachers and the sustainability of our situation. I wonder, as the decision-makers in districts are meeting, whether they have gotten into classrooms to experience the current teaching reality? I don’t mean walk-throughs. I mean, have they spent entire class periods or days in multiple content areas to truly understand the new workload? I want anyone who reads this to know I see you--KATE sees you--and we know how hard you are working for your students. KATE is thankful all year long for Kansas teachers, the magic they bring into their classrooms every day, and the passion with which they teach Kansas students. My hope is administrators, school board members, legislators, and other decision-makers keep in mind the immense weight of the things our teachers carry.  About the Author
Erica Shook is the English Department Chair at McPherson High School, USD 418, and a 2020 LEGO Master Educator. Because of her passion for students, educators and education, ELA, YA literature, and social activism, she is also a Project LIT Community chapter leader, LiNK Adolescent Lit. CoP Leader, and the KATE Vice-President. Follow her on Twitter at @Ms_Shook or on Instagram at @ms_shook for book suggestions to build classroom libraries or for continued professional development. By Deborah McNemee  The Shame Scraper! Last week, Michaela Liebst shared with us an inspired idea that brought together what we think of as traditional academic skills with creativity. Her blog post comes just at the right time when most students and educators are feeling quite bogged down with our technology-heavy new normal. Liebst offers a great reminder that innovation in the classroom doesn’t always need to be tech-based. Her blog reminds me of an assessment I’ve used with my honors and AP students. The adjectives that normally accompany honors and AP assessments might include grueling, taxing, and rigorous. Did you know that if you look up rigorous in the 10th edition of the Webster’s Collegiate dictionary, you’ll find the synonyms harsh and severe? Scrupulously accurate is also found. That sounds better, but taxing and grueling give you wearing and punishing. Except for the accurate part of those definitions, none of those words are ones I’d prefer to be associated with the academic curiosity and excellence necessary for honors or AP learning. For any learning, come to think of it. While thorough and challenging exams are naturally part of accelerated classes, there is still room for innovation and--dare I say it--fun. One year, after my honors had quizzed and essayed their way through Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter and Miller’s The Crucible, I decided to offer a different kind of assessment. that would not only test their ability to follow written instructions (which is sometimes surprisingly lacking) and innovate on demand, but it would also allow me to assess several other elements. First, I divided the class into small groups of 3 to 4 students. Next, I handed out the instructions. Students were to create an advertisement for a product that a specific character from either story would need or use. In the advertisement, the students must apply their understanding of the character, plot, conflicts, satire, and appeals. They must include a script that demonstrates knowledge and application of writing skills, including punctuation and grammar usage. Oh, and one more thing, they also had to create the product. They could use anything in the classroom or in their backpacks. Then each group drew a character’s name from a hat. They had about one hour to complete the task. At the end of the hour the groups presented their product and their commercial. While the reading and vocab quizzes and essays were a necessary part of my lessons, none of those assessments could come close to checking so many elements all at once. With this one assignment I was able to assess the following items:
Of course, this was simply a theory until I put it to practice. Mind you, these student guinea pigs were used to rigorous exams. I wasn’t sure how they would take to this new model. At first, the students didn’t know what to make of it. After only a few minutes, however, they were digging through their backpacks, and rifling through their brains, and scavenging through the hoard of craft supplies and odd trinkets I’d provided. I had collected quite a collection of wrapping paper tubes, tin foil, play dough, popsicle sticks, pipe cleaners, googly eyes, and whatever else you can find at the Dollar Store or a garage sale.  My Little Daddy! The ultimate products were impressive. Hester Prynne’s Shame Scraper was a favorite. If she’d only had a way to scrape away her shame sooner, she would have saved herself and her child at least one hundred pages worth of anxious overthinking and self reproof. Rev. Dimmesdale Jackbone (a jacket with a backbone) could also have saved the day, along with his soul. Pearl’s My Little Daddy would have eliminated not only Hester’s soul-sucking dependence on the possibility that Dimmesdale might stop being a deadbeat dad, but also her own continuous creepy questioning about her father. Elizabeth Proctor needed an anti-witch spell kit to dispel Abigail Williams from Salem (bonus points for irony). Reverend Hale needed the New and Improved Edition of Incubus and Succubus for Dummies to carry in with his “heavy books... weighted with authority”. The commercials were as wonderful as the products. The activity was a hit. It also ended up being a successful assessment of many of the standards we’d studied in the last several weeks. The on-demand thinking required with this activity is key. The students did not know what we were doing ahead of time. Therefore, they could not bring in craft supplies that might benefit their preconceived ideas. The fact that they were required to use only what they could find in the classroom guided their thinking. The shapes, colors, utility, and amount of various supplies meant they had to truly problem solve together. They had never done something like this on-the-fly before, so no one was an expert. Each student had to put ideas on the table. Each student had to engage. Every team member had to move forward with a sense of faith and accountability. It was truly one of the most memorable moments of the year. Guess what else, many students claimed they understood the use of appeals and satire more so after that activity than they did after analyzing traditional texts. So, not only was it an assessment, it was also a good teaching tool. Another bonus--it was not another project that they had to take home and complete at midnight the night before it was due. It was a one and done class activity. No homework necessary. Also, no perfection required. For many students, homework breaks and perfection passes are very real blessings. While fun activities like this one should not completely replace traditional forms of testing, I do feel like they should absolutely act as supplements, or an enrichment at the very least. By the way, if you are nervous to try something so unconventional, let me know. I’ve got a gently used Jackbone that might help. It’s worth a try, anyway. We’d love for you to share your fun and creative classroom assignments. Share in the comments below or share on Twitter or Instagram with the hashtag #KATEclassroom. Don’t forget to tag @kansasenglish on Twitter and @kanasenglishblog on Instagram. About the Author
Deborah McNemee teaches at Andover Central High School where a culture of reading is alive and well. She creates a culture of reading with her students by annually hosting a project based event in partnership with Big Read Wichita. She facilitates a writing culture through encouraging involvement with the NaNowriMo Young Writers Program and submitting student work to Voices of Kansas. Her favorite books to read outside of school are classics. Check out her blog about keeping classics relevant for kids at www.KeepingClassics.com. by John Ritchie I started the 2019-2020 school year--my 20th year in the classroom--with more optimism and excitement than usual. I loved both of my PLCs. The junior PLC was hoping to breathe new life into Miller’s Death of a Salesman by pairing it with Hansberry’s A Raisin in the Sun. Second semester, we were ready to roll out (and defend if necessary) The Perks of Being a Wallflower. These literature units would alternate with our renewed pumped up approach to digital literacy and research writing. My senior composition PLC was likewise pushing new citation styles and trying to help students see how and why the different citation styles were applied. Amidst all of this, a friend from Washburn University asked if I would sponsor a future teacher’s observation hours. If all went well, I would mentor ST the following fall during her student teaching semester. I would be open to all of her questions through fall, winter, and spring as we then geared up to an experience none of us could anticipate. ST’s 2019 fall semester experience went very well. Initially, I would preview the lesson plans for her and then have her come up with questions about anything she observed during her two-hour stay. . Most of the questions were about the classroom layout, why I addressed some behaviors but ignored others, and how the transactions of the day would affect what I did tomorrow. When we got to our junior plays, she knew the classes she was observing well enough to predict that they would hate Biff and Happy (bunch of losers) but love Walter and Beneatha’s spirit. By the end of the semester, she was practicing electronic feedback on essays and creating seating charts based on what she knew about the students. I was pleased with her progress, so I was happy to put in the paperwork to be her mentor for Fall 2020. I kept in touch with ST throughout the beginning of this past spring semester.. I shared our materials as we put together a tougher research unit than we’d ever done with our juniors. She previewed materials and began to see the delicate balance of creating clear objectives in student-friendly language. When our PLC spent three days wordsmithing a heads up for parents about The Perks of Being a Wallflower, she and I talked through the professional changes the team had made from the first to the final draft. With Part I of Perks completed without controversy just before spring break, I said things would be boring enough that she should focus on her final university classes and check back with me in May. We all know how quickly things changed during spring break. ST contacted me to ask what we were doing. All I could say was “we’re adapting.” It was tough to keep her informed when my own information seemed to change by the minute. Then came the press conference. All of us in education had an inkling of what would happen, but I doubt any of us believed it. When the words were said, I couldn’t accept it. I jumped as my breaking news alert confirmed it. Dazed, I captured the screenshot for posterity:  Another alert--a text from ST: “Are you watching? What do you think?” I felt an obligation to be the mentor. A temptation to sit above it all and try to remain objective. But I found I didn’t have the energy or desire. It didn’t feel right. I was watching the press conference blinking back tears because one of the best parts of my life had been taken away for at least the next six months. “Devastated,” I replied. As ST continued to check in periodically with me, I wondered how I could continue to offer myself as a mentor to her. I was dealing with Google Meetings that were attended by less than 10% of my classes. Incidents of plagiarism began to spike. It became a vicious cycle of my kids’ motivation dying, which hurt mine, which no doubt hurt my kids, and downward we went. I felt like nothing I did mattered. The assignments and the grading became busy work. What could she learn from someone who no longer felt effective? I will never be more thankful for my PLC colleagues than I was from March - May 2020. It was easily one of the lowest points of my teaching career, but they helped me survive it. Our weekly meetings were the only confirmation I had that I was not alone, that I was not failing as a professional, and that we were all clawing toward a finish line hoping to have something to be proud of at the end. As the school year wrapped up, my PLCs made a Google Form reflection for our students that we counted as the last assignment of the semester. We asked students to be honest about what worked for them and, in a worst case scenario, what should change if we had to go through this again next fall. Some of my worst fears were confirmed--the students saw some of what we did as boring busy work--but we also received encouragement saying they thought we did the best we could under the circumstances. One thing I noticed was how many students said they appreciated the ongoing contacts, even if the students did not engage us in return. There were also many genuine messages about how much they enjoyed and missed our class. That helped me realize that any successes we had in the fourth quarter were from the relationships we had built the previous seven months. It also helped me realize that I could continue as a mentor for ST by building off the relationship we had created last year, and by welcoming her as a colleague into our PLC. ********** It’s now late June. ST has finished her PLT and is beginning to ask questions about the fall. During any other year, we would approach it the same way I usually approach the fall and reflect upon on the previou year: identify what worked and what we can do to improve upon it; identify what bombed and evaluate if it is worth salvaging it,;and identify what new learning has excited me in the past year and where I can implement it. Of course we can still go through this process and build on the foundation created from last year, but the pandemic remains the inescapable elephant in the room. We cannot plan for it. Instead of giving in to the despair I felt earlier, I tell her it is an opportunity to dive deeper into what teachers and students in our district, and across the state, are already using. As we are a Google school, one priority is making sure she is proficient with Google Classroom and Forms. We look at screencast software and search teacher sites for the most user-friendly resources. I give her National Writing Project books and links to sites like KATE and NCTE’s ALAN site. The exchange flows both ways. As someone who is only five or six years older than our students, she is more likely to know what technology will be most engaging to them without seeming forced or, dare I say it, cringe. Part of her job is to suggest whatever she thinks might help us engage our students. She floats the idea of a Tik-Tok for our classes. I am not yet convinced, but I am listening. Now we get together at least once a week to walk a public trail and talk about the fall. We get past our anxieties by discussing education developments. We joke that our walks in the summer humidity will give us the endurance to teach eight hours while wearing a mask. Many Board of Regents schools have announced that on-campus classes will end with Thanksgiving break. Will that happen to us? We know it’s possible. Based on the 4th quarter, we decided to suggest to the PLC that we put the major work in the 1st quarter. It may be an illusion of control, but the discussions help us acknowledge the challenges that lay ahead. Relationship-building is our top priority. Our first assignment together is to come up with a plan to build connections with students as soon as we are able to contact them, regardless of what that contact might look like. I still worry whether I’ll be an effective mentor for ST. Even under ideal conditions, student teaching is an unpaid internship with all of the stress of teaching without many of the benefits. She is entering a situation that turned us all into first-year teachers again. This year her questions will often be the questions I’m trying to answer, too. The best that I can do is to acknowledge my own doubts, but show how we push past them through continuous learning and flexibility. I will show her how to enter a career that often thrives on adapting to crises whether it is school violence, sudden changes in curriculum, or even a pandemic.  About the Author
About the author: John Ritchie lives in Topeka where he teaches English 11 and Composition at Washburn Rural High School, and Composition as an adjunct professor at Washburn University. He has been an active member of KATE for 15 years. Facebook: John Ritchie Instagram: @mr_jritchie By Nathan Whitman When I became employed at my first and present job as an English teacher in 2012, I knew that I was in for a culture shock. I had graduated from a 6A KSHSAA (Kansas State High School Activities Association) division high school of more than 2,000 students, and now I was going to teach in a 1A school of a few more than 200. However, upon having one of my first meetings with a school employee, I realized that Burrton was in for an equally stark culture shock from me. I’d read the state data reports. I knew that the majority of my students would be white. I knew that a handful were of various minority and cultural groups. Nevertheless, when I inquired of a staff member about how many students in the school were LGBTQ (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer/questioning) and if there was a GSA (gender and sexuality alliance), I was told, “We don’t have gay students at this district.” With that perspective – no wonder! I was certain that these kids did not feel like they had a welcoming culture to be themselves. Clearly, this “educator” either did not know, did not care, or chose to be in denial of the hard fact that 4.5% of Americans are LGBTQ, and that number represents only the self-reporting to a Gallup poll. Those in the closet are surely even greater in rank. In my head I’d done the numbers: at a school of around 250 individuals (staff and students) – and I may be rounding up – 11-12 had to be LGBTQ in a given year. Knowing those statistics, I was determined to chop that closet door down: Here’s Johnny! Throughout the course of my studies at Wichita State University, not only did I become certain of my career path as an English educator, I also realized that as much as I wanted to be a queer role model for my students and ally, I still had to play my cards carefully and closely to the chest. At the time, Kansas had no workplace protections for LGBTQ individuals unless they were written into the employment nondiscrimination clause (to no one’s surprise: sexual orientation was not and still is not covered by many districts’ contract language – my own included). Furthermore, with Kansas being an at-will state, I’d have to document anything I did in support of LGBTQ students or advocacy for myself (for legal reasons), as I could – and still can – be terminated from my job at my employer’s whim with no reasons given. While the at-will language states that “your employer can fire you for any non-discriminatory and/or non-retaliatory reason,” unless I had proof that my firing was discriminatory or retaliatory, I would and still can be sunk. This blog post could even be cause for termination, and I’d never know. Luckily, I’ve had fantastic administrative support, but I know that others are not so lucky. I would like to think that LGBTQ educators can feel more at ease with their own personal lives and advocacy of LGBTQ students as of June 16, 2020, which is when I am writing this new draft of this blog post. For those unaware, in an unprecedented motion, two conservative Supreme Court justices sided with the four liberal that Title VII protects LGBTQ employees from workplace discrimination and termination. Hooray! I can now put up a picture of my husband and me after our wedding this summer and not be fired – I hope. I preface the core of my post with these anecdotes and current events because we LGBTQ educators may now have more protections in our employment, but our students still lack protections of the most basic kind in their school policies. Check yours: Does it include a nondiscrimination clause on student sexual orientation and gender identity? Now is the time to use our newfound privilege to advocate and lead by example because, even with the Supreme Court ruling, there are political ploys at play to undermine trans youth via Title IX. I say this with resolve and guilt, for I know that I haven’t always been the best example and that I could have done more for many students, but I didn’t because I was afraid. Instead, I did minor things to advocate: I put more LGBTQ affirming texts in the school, counselor’s, and my classroom libraries; provided Safe Zone training and signage for teachers who were interested; encouraged students who asked to bring same-sex dates to dances; made sure to highlight queer writers in the school-approved curricula. It wasn’t until the last few years that I dared to even show my partner in the beginning of the year “About Mr. Whitman & His Class” slideshow. But, I digress. The Southern Poverty Law Center has an enlightening list of ten – often bizarre – myths about LGBTQ persons employed by those who wish to discriminate or do harm to that community. One thing that all teachers need to recognize is that these myths are still believed and used to justify discrimination toward LGBTQ students and educators. Three of them – in my opinion – form the core of what many students experience in their schools in Kansas, and if we’re going to truly support our students, we have to be willing to confront these misconceptions head-on. Myth 1: LGBTQ Persons are Pedophiles or Perverts (SPLC no. 1) This myth often appears when it comes to bathroom and locker room usage – particularly with trans students and educators. While more awareness is finally being afforded to the trans community, many still don’t understand that trans people just want to go to the bathroom, that they aren’t wanting a peep show, that they already feel out of place in their body and want nothing more than to be left alone and to be themselves. LGBTQ youth are one of the highest risk groups for suicide because of so many factors such as rejection from family and homelessness. With LGBTQ students already facing so much stress and pressure, allowing them proper bathroom privileges is the least a community can do to alleviate some of that stress. I personally know the hassle that bathroom usage can bring, as I choose to use the staff unisex bathroom. One homophobic accusation is all it takes to ruin a career. Myth 2: It’s a Sin (SPLC no. 9 & 10) According to the Pew Research Center, 76% of adults in Kansas identify as Christian. As much as we love talking about the separation of church and state, you’d have to be an absolute fool to say that religion plays no part in Kansas’ political or educational landscape. Two respectable professors from state university education programs have told me stories of teachers in training who said that they’d refuse to use a trans student’s pronouns or accommodate LGBTQ students in other ways if it conflicted with their religious beliefs – and they’re not the only ones. For students from all walks of life to have a welcoming climate in a public school, all students must be welcome, loved, and validated, regardless of the staff’s private religious practices. Myth 3: It’s a Choice and/or It’s an Illness, and You Can Change (SPLC no. 9 & 10) I have a hard time deciding which myth is the most damaging, but I’d say it’s a safe bet that telling LGBTQ youth that they’re broken (this ties to the sin myth) and need to change is pretty close to the top of the list. Ex-gay and conversion therapy have done irreparable damage to LGBTQ youth and spread like wildfire in states like ours: my own brother survived it, and I narrowly escaped having to participate. Now that scientific studies and mental health professionals even confirm that trying to change one’s sexual orientation can lead to lasting mental health consequences and even suicide, many states are banning the practice. If we as educators truly value the buzzwords “social-emotional wellness,” then we better damn well do our best to crush this myth for our students. This leads to the inevitable question: What can you as an educator do? That’s easy. Educate yourself. Attend a Safe Zone or Safe Space training. Help start a GSA. Advocate for unisex bathrooms and nondiscrimination policies in student handbooks. Call out anti-LGBTQ comments and microagressions in staff meetings. Watch queer cinema and television. Read queer YA literature. God-forbid, meet and befriend an actual queer person without asking prying, borderline-fetish questions. It’s amazing how human we are. Use your power and privilege to advocate for LGBTQ equality. At the end of the day, I don’t want any student to feel the way that I felt – to be told that they’re hopelessly broken, that God doesn’t love them, that they didn’t pray or try hard enough to change. High school is hard enough as it is. One of my most formative memories originates from high school when I was arguing with my brother – also gay – regarding his sexual orientation. I told him that I wished he was “normal” because deep down inside, at that time, I wished I was “normal.” What I didn’t realize, and what’s taken me close to over a decade to come to understand, is that I truly am that: normal. And all my queer students are, too. And, what a difference it would have made, if just one adult had told me, “You’re fine just the way you are.”  Pictured: Nathan Whitman (left) and Ryan Patrick (right). This photo was grounds for dismissal until Tuesday, June 16, 2020. About the Author
Nathan Whitman is the current Kansas Association of Teachers of English President. He teaches 9-12 English at Burrton High School USD 369 and is also an adjunct professor at Hutchinson Community College. Twitter: @writerwhitman Instagram: @writerwhitman By Erica Shook This year, with all its insanity, was my tenth year of teaching. During those years, I have had a number of LGBTQ+ students pass through my classroom--some who are open with their sexuality or gender identification, and some who don’t choose to share that until after they have graduated high school and have gone on to the next phase of their lives. But all of them hold a special place with me forever. I have had a couple of transgender students over the past couple of years, one in particular whose voice I want to share with you. You see, this student has an amazing talent as a writer and an important perspective to share. I remember how nervous he was the first time the counselor brought him to my classroom to introduce us so that I would know him by his chosen name instead of the birth name listed in PowerSchool. He has a quick wit, a clever mind, and an amazing smile. But he was also struggling, though he shared that with very few people. Early one February, as we were talking about senior showcases, I asked him if he knew what he wanted to do after high school. His answer broke my heart: “I haven’t really thought about it. Most days I’m not sure I’ll be alive that long.” Talking was hard at first, but writing was cathartic for him, so we focused on that as a way for him to communicate his feelings and experiences. Many days we spent my planning period working side-by-side at a table in my classroom: him writing, me grading or lesson planning. I would help edit when he asked. I believe very strongly that what he has to say should be read by everyone--certainly all educators--and I am sharing that voice here with his permission. The following is a small portion of his words, shared with me over a period of months. My hope in sharing with others is that they will reflect on the relationships they have with students in their classrooms or school communities and ask themselves if there are areas in which to grow: “To begin, I struggle with dysphoria from being transgender. Being trans has affected almost every part of my life. Every morning when I wake up, I struggle to get ready to start my day, beginning with chest binding. This can cause many internal problems such as pain and overheating and can worsen already existing problems such as asthma and respiratory infections. It gets hard to look at things positively when every morning you have to face your worst flaws. When brushing my teeth, sometimes I have to refrain from looking into the mirror. If I do, I tend to wonder if I am passing well enough? Is my chest flat enough? Would changing my shirt help? Nevermind, I will just wear a hoodie every day, even when it’s 95 degrees outside. However, that's not even the hardest part. Night routines. That’s the hardest part. After the day is done with its battles, I have my worst one going home and taking a shower. Time to undo the one thing keeping my confidence up. My appearance. There is a mirror, which is very inconvenient when the last thing you want is to literally face yourself. So now my gaze stays fixed. Fixed on one thing. Getting dressed. Do you enjoy a hot shower? I wish I could say yes. That’s where most people relax. Yeah... not me. Truthfully, I do not enjoy a hot shower, or even a cold one. However, I do enjoy the relief of the constant pressure on my ribs and being clean. When I go out to eat, go to school, or go to a public place, I have to use the restroom before I leave the house and normally won't return to a restroom until I get home. Yeah, imagine that discomfort. At school there are two restrooms I am allowed to use: either the one in the nurse's office or the staff restroom. I feel as though this just calls me out further. How am I supposed to feel normal when I can’t even use a restroom 95% of the time? Being trans has caused a lot of mental health issues--it's depressing being separated. Which name do I write on my papers? Which line do I fit in during P.E.? Which locker room do I use? I constantly feel like no one gets it. It is very lonely, and it’s hard to explain why I can’t just go to a certain place, or why I have to cut my trip short because there is no restroom for me to legally use. I constantly struggle with feeling accepted, especially around my family. I have been bullied and harassed for being transgender. I am different--everything is different. I have all the typical teenage bullshit, but on top of all of that, I am trans. I need to find less destructive outlets. To hide one problem, I tend to take on a different problem. I need to find some balance in my feelings. I can never find a good place between being too feminine or too masculine. Puberty is something that is making me anxious; it’s something I am going to have to go through all over again in the future. Throughout life, you have to meet new people. I hate having to introduce myself to anyone. I don’t know how they will feel about me or the intrusive questions they may ask. I don’t know how to explain myself. Really, I don't want to. Coming out can either make you closer to family or destroy your relationship with them. There are countless reasons why relationships are difficult with a significant other. You have to open up even when you don't want to (about your triggers, about where they can and can’t hold you, about things they can and cannot say, and about dealing with how their family and the public feels about you). It feels so unfair to put someone you care about through all of that. I hate name problems, like when I am dead named (called my birth name) because of my family in front of someone who knows me as my chosen name or having to explain pronouns. My future is my biggest worry, aside from my day-to-day problems. I don’t want to go to college, and that is going to upset my family. I have fear of what my future might look like. Financially, for myself, things are going to be very expensive. Things like surgeries and testosterone. I fear failure. I hope to one day do something big, like write a book, or maybe even a play. I want to try and make a difference for kids like myself. But, I worry about being fired due to my identity, being harassed or bullied by the public or coworkers, potentially ending up homeless, being denied housing or evicted, denied medical care or being targeted by others. A lot has been taken from me because I am Trans. My childhood was not always happy, and I remember being alone a lot of the time. My sister and cousins never wanted to play things that I enjoyed. They played with makeup or Barbies and did each other's hair. They would play house, and I would only take part if I had a male role...like a dad or brother. I didn’t enjoy having family occasions--my birth name was said and used too often. I love the beach. God I love it. The sand, the water and the smell. It helps me feel free. It helps my mind. Which is amazing but sad because I have to wear a t-shirt. It’s hot there, and it makes me uncomfortable. The city pool is just Hell. I can’t get married wherever I please. I can’t have my own kids like a normal cisgendered male, and that kills me inside. Thinking about it makes me sick...it makes me feel empty. I think I hate that part the most. Anger overwhelms me, and makes me hate the world as well as myself. I hate my body so so deeply. I love children, but having them, that is going to be hard. It’s unfair for my significant other. I fear I am not enough, or won't be enough. I feel that I am not enough. I am not as strong nor as big as a typical male. I don’t have many friends because it’s hard to bond. I never got to play the sports I wish I could have or write the name I felt was right on the top of my papers. I never got to express myself. I fell... deep. Into a hole of self-loathing and doubt. Sleep sucks, waking up sucks, peeing sucks, going out to eat sucks. I am alive, but am I living? I am scared. I am so scared of losing hope and just not having anything but myself. I was always alone, so I came out to fix that. I was wrong because now I feel even more alone. It is hard to even breathe thinking of all the things I didn’t get to see. I didn’t get to control. Yet, I am still in the same spot and not shit has changed. The world has expressed my unwelcomeness, but I did not ask to be here. When I am asked why I chose this, I say I didn't choose a thing. I didn’t choose to hate my physical existence. I didn’t choose to fight all the time with loved ones or my own personal battles. I did not choose to struggle every day. I wish that was understood. I want nothing more than what those people who question me have. I want what you do, I promise. I have yet to understand why such bad things happen to the best of people. Especially things that no one should ever go through. I guess life just isn’t fair. I feel sad right now, maybe the word I'm actually looking for is overwhelmed. I broke yesterday. I cried...on the floor in the bathroom and made some very bad decisions. I just hurt...all too bad. Replacing emotional pain with physical pain. Does it help? Well, my honest answer is yes. But only for a moment. Only while it's literally tearing you apart. Then its effects last forever. In a helpless spiral you will fall. I want to love and be loved. I want to spread it and I want to feel it. I want to love myself the most. It is so confusing. I hate my physical being; however internally, I don’t believe I am terrible... I hope one day it all won’t hurt so bad. Some things that happened, I will take to my grave remaining secret. That is where they belong. Dead. As dead as they made me feel. In time I will be better. I hold onto that thought. I don’t know how, or even when. But that time will come.”  About the Author
Erica Shook is the English Department Chair at McPherson High School, USD 418. Because of her passion for students, educators and education, ELA, YA literature, and social activism, she is also a Project LIT Community chapter leader and the KATE Vice-President. One of the most important things she has learned during her time teaching is that absolutely everything that happens in one's classroom hinges on the relationships built there. Representation matters and is an essential component of those relationships. Follow her on Twitter at @Ms_Shook or on Instagram at @ms_shook for book suggestions to build classroom libraries or for continued professional development. You can also check out https://www.glsen.org/ or https://www.tolerance.org/ for additional resources. By Madison Loomis I have a question that keeps repeating in my head over and over and over again: Am I going to remember how to be a teacher? My head chimes in with the same response - Duh, yes you will - it’s like riding a bike. Isn’t it? Or is it? Will I remember how to set my expectations the first day, or will I freeze up at the front of the room like I did the first time a lesson went wrong? I haven't had face-to- face interaction with my students in SO LONG, and now the official school year is over, which also concludes my first year of teaching. Yes, I am a baby teacher who not only survived her first year, but survived amidst a global pandemic. This year of teaching really paralleled a classic coming of age story, but for someone who transitioned from novice teacher to experienced professional . This transition was full of classic, cringeworthy moments. However, while reflecting on these moments I’ve realized that they were necessary. They helped me to grow, and with this growth came comfortability, and most importantly, confidence. Reflecting back on this year, my confidence only came through conquering some of the weirdest situations I’ve ever experienced - you know, like turning around to a pair of tidy whities that magically appeared on a desk in the middle of reading The Hunger Games... or that time when someone played inappropriate noises from a hidden Bluetooth speaker in my room that ignited a frenzy to find where they were coming from... I remember walking out of my room sometimes and looking at my coworkers like, "what the heck just happened last block?" I really thought I had seen (and heard) enough for my first year. I locked my door on March 12th feeling pretty good. Feeling like I might be getting the hang of this whole teaching thing. But then everything got way more serious. I left that Thursday before spring break to go to the store after school. I was out of toilet paper at the worst time, only to see people rushing and scared in every aisle. I think that's when it dawned on me that things weren't okay. Little did I know, the world I knew would not exist anymore. Teaching should be like riding a bike, right? You might be a little scared after not riding for a while, but you’re reassured after the first 5 seconds back on the bike, that you got this. You’ve practiced, and you’ve fallen down A LOT, but each time you get back up, things feel a little easier. I was finally ready to ditch my teacher training wheels in the fourth quarter upon my return. But during spring break, someone let the air out of my tires. My wheels weren’t turning anymore. Literally. I froze when the governor announced we would not be returning to school as we knew it. My brain went radio silent. I realized I would be switching from the comfort of riding a bike to climbing on top of a contraption no one had ever used before - one still being built. Flash forward a few weeks. With the indefinite school closures, l was given 15 minutes to get my stuff from the building. 15 minutes. My room didn’t even feel the same - it looked and felt like a ghost town. I locked my door this time, unsure when I would see my classroom again. The news became constant background buzzing as life changed every day. My heart broke when I thought of how each one of my 160 students’ lives were changing too. I am thankful for every phone, text, Google Classroom, email conversation that I was privileged to have with them, It was horrible to not be able to say “good bye” to them, but I hope that I will be reunited with their faces soon. Before this, I had the belief that teaching gradually became more normal with every day . Things start awkward, even scary, and then, somehow, teachers grow and find their voice. Before COVID-19, I believed that once you found your voice, you were set for life. Unfortunately, teaching is much more dynamic than that. It throws us curve balls all the time. And it takes a special human to adapt and adjust when the definition of normal changes year by year, hour by hour. It takes a special human to care so much about their coworkers and every student they teach - to find every possible way to solve every single problem. And educators are exactly that - special. I cannot tell you how many times I have heard the word, “relationships” since I started teaching. Relationships with students help us break through obstacles in their behavior and learning; they are how we establish a positive classroom environment. We will always have the memories of our high school teachers that told us we were special, the college professors that challenged us, the mentor teachers who never gave up on us, and the friend down the hall whose room became a safe haven of help during our plan time. But relationship building shouldn’t stop once we step foot outside our classroom. As an educator, you are part of a community of some of the coolest people on the planet (maybe I’m just biased). My colleagues at Southeast each bring their own voice, talent, and experience. They’ve shared numerous ideas and lessons; advice and comfort. One of them even bought me fuses for the string lights in my room. Another helped me compose a write-up regarding the inappropriate noises from the hidden speaker incident. If they hadn’t, I might still be trying to put that incident into words to this day. They were incredibly vital as education moved into uncharted territory this final quarter. I am thankful that I was able to ask them thousands of questions a day, and they still helped solve them even though they were struggling themselves. And truly, I think that’s all that really matters - whatever happens to us educators, weird or normal, there will always be someone there to support us. I can’t tell you how proud I am to be an educator amongst so many resilient, strong, caring humans. Our own lives changed completely, yet we still care about everyone else. Our jobs are centered around human interaction, and we have the power to make an impact, socially -distanced or not. The future is still unknown for all of us right now. Whether we have a year of experience or years of experience, none of us know what we will be returning to next year. But I do know this - we will continue to help those around us, regardless if it is through an instant message, a text, or a meme. We will adapt, and we will change together. The relationships we build with our colleagues will turn into lifelong friendships, and nothing is going to change that. I am not the teacher I was in August, and I will not be returning as the teacher I was before spring break. So reflecting on that question I asked at the beginning, “Am I going to remember how to be a teacher?”, I’ll tell you what I know for sure: I am going to remember how the kids I taught this year made me feel. I am going to remember how to laugh. I am going to be resilient in the face of change. And most importantly, I’ll remember that I’m going to have one heck of a support system by my side at all times. So thank you to educators, new and old - we are confused and frustrated with our future. But always remember that you are appreciated. Thank you for believing in me, so that I can believe in my students.  About the Author
My name is Madison Loomis, and I have just completed my first year teaching ELA at Wichita Southeast High School. I graduated from Wichita State University in 2019. I love concerts, my grumpy cat Gracie, and I LOVE reading young adult literature. You can find me on Goodreads or reach me at [email protected] |
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