Goodbye School

You loved her compassion when it meant you could sit her beside the boy who stimmed. You know, the one with the 60-year-old physician father on his third marriage, who wrote you endless emails because he was determined that this time he would be highly involved in school life? But when she extended that compassion to the boy from the trailer park and tried to stop bullying, you told her to mind her own business.

You loved her desire for order and rules when it meant that she would willingly stand in line, wait her turn, stay quiet, raise her hand, and use the bathroom only when convenient to you. You called her a good girl. You loved it until she understood Title IX and wanted you to follow the law. Then she was called disrespectful, strident, and demanding.

You loved her able mind and curious spirit when it meant that you didn’t have to worry about her test scores, when you could use her to teach her peers, and could hold her up as an example of how well you taught. You loved it until she tired of the repetition and began to catch your mistakes. Then you tell her that it is rude to ask too many questions, that she is not as smart as she thinks, because the lesson in the teacher’s guide says that there are only three states of matter.

You loved her tenacity when it meant that she trained for hours to represent your school as an athlete, going to states and giving you positive press. You loved her tenacity until she jumped each hurdle you set, hurdles no other student club had to overcome, and formed a GSA club. You loved her patience until it meant that she patiently replaced the GSA meetings posters that bullies tore down.

You loved when she was quiet. But little did you know that she was watching and listening and readying her voice for the right moment. You couldn’t handle it, but I am glad, because she found out that she is stronger than a system. She is gone, entering the real world where small minds do not ultimately prosper. And you are still there.