Pride Belongs in Schools

There is a conversation unfolding on my social media debating whether “Pride” related topics belong in schools, specifically elementary schools. Specifically local, rural elementary schools. I have too much to say on this to try to engage with a pithy smart ass remark. So I’ll collect my thoughts here for whoever chooses to read them.

Teaching about the world is the job of schools. Teaching students to navigate in the world, to develop skills, values, perspectives that will help them navigate the world. Helping students navigate their inner world is also important and many young people don’t get nearly enough support in that regard.

Teaching about the world is also a job for parents and extended family and other community supports, spiritual communities, youth organizations and so on. Helping young people navigate their inner world is also important and, I repeat, many don’t get nearly enough support in that regard. In particular, some kids don’t get to feel safe or loved at home for who they really are.

I know some of this because I grew up in a rural farming community, surrounded by church-going folk. I attended a tiny elementary school and you can bet that in the 1970’s there was no talk of any “alternate lifestyles”. There was one way to be and by God that was what you were going to be, come Hell or high water or getting the sense beat out of you. Literally.

I consider myself lucky in so many regards to have been raised where and when I was. But I will say this. I was raised to be thoroughly dishonest with myself. I was raised to be filled with self-hatred. Because every signal, every nuance, every raised eyebrow, every derogatory remark about gay people was about me. Everyone around me hated gay people, mocked them. And I knew from a young age I was gay. So … self-hatred or exile. These were my choices.

I probably realized in my mid-teens that I was queer and I was horrified. Imagine – being horrified at something that is an essential, non-negotiable part of your being. Like being ashamed of having green eyes or brown hair or being left-handed. It just … is.

I didn’t want to lose my family so I chose to fill my inner world with self-hatred. Because being honest was far, far too frightening.

I’m trying to imagine what it would have been like had I been born more recently and attended schools where the concept of many possible life paths had been at least presented without mockery or judgement. Just … as another part of the world. Here is the world. As you navigate through it, you’ll meet queer people. Some are lovely. Some are less so – just like, oh, everyone else. Just … people.

If someone, somewhere had said something nice about gay people when I was a child, I would have had a bit of hope, a glimmer of some kind of light in the dim self-hatred that I clung to. But that wasn’t the time for such perspectives. I’m grateful that my suicide attempt at age 17 was half-hearted and easily thwarted. But it does form part of my story.

Many rural kids leave their rural origins for lots of reasons – more opportunities, post-secondary education, turning boredom into adventure. Queer kids leave their home communities when it feels safer to go than it does to stay. They leave so they can find their people. Often, that means the nearest big city. Once they have found their “tribe”, their chosen families, the people that accurately reflect back to them who they feel they really are, in honesty … coming home to the family of origin is very difficult. There is familiarity and yet there is a strange invisibility. The people that should know you best really do not. Nor, in many cases, do they wish to. Queer adults often feel like strangers amongst the people they have known and loved the longest.

So I’ve had to find my way through both the self-hatred and the exile, as it turns out. I wouldn’t wish that journey on anyone’s child and yet, again, I’m grateful. The people I’ve met, really good people. The communities and connections I’ve built. The inner strength and fortitude to handle just about anything – not an invitation, universe, back off baby – the patience I’ve had to develop to deal with truly ignorant people. These are some of the gifts of my journey.

Think of Pride in schools as a suicide prevention strategy. Here are some statistics, courtesy the Trevor Project:

• Suicide is the second leading cause of death among young people aged 10 to 24 (Hedegaard, Curtin, & Warner, 2018) — and lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, and questioning (LGBTQ) youth are at significantly increased risk.
• LGBTQ youth are more than four times as likely to attempt suicide than their peers (Johns et al., 2019; Johns et al., 2020).
• The Trevor Project estimates that more than 1.8 million LGBTQ youth (13-24) seriously consider suicide each year in the U.S. — and at least one attempts suicide every 45 seconds.
• The Trevor Project’s 2022 National Survey on LGBTQ Youth Mental Health found that 45% of LGBTQ youth seriously considered attempting suicide in the past year, including more than half of transgender and nonbinary youth.

Removing “Pride” from schools, or children from “Pride” topics will not result in fewer queer or trans kids. It will result in children being terrified to talk to their parents and families about who they really are. “If my Mom doesn’t like Pride, I must be bad.” You won’t know that is even happening for your children until they get brave enough to tell you, probably in anger or terror, when they are adults. If they survive.

By being afraid of, or angry about, “Pride” being taught in schools, parents condemn their own children to self-hatred, possibly self-harm, and a painful choice in the future to leave to find safety elsewhere. For those kids who are not queer, you are training them to be “ok” with hating people. Just people. No better, no worse than anyone else.