In uneven times, we forget that the past and present are not neatly merged into this one new all-inclusive time. At the edges of the envelope, teachers begin to plan to ask students their preferred pronouns. “Do you prefer the singular they?” They want to know. These educators desire to create a welcoming space for their trans students, for the gender fluid and otherwise defined who have left the binary behind. 

But a small, dark, elfin young woman reminded me of a fact that must be considered before we tackle pronouns: Not everyone is out. That woman is not out because she is afraid her father might become physically violent if she outed herself. She might be wrong about her dad — but she might not.

In her words, “pronouns can be swords.”

Eduhonesty: Some kids prefer life in closets. At least until they are out on their own, genuine questions of physical and mental safety may be in play. I support using preferred pronouns, but our adolescents today tend to be remarkably savvy about the world they live in. Beyond asking a class in general, ” if you have any special desires where pronouns are concerned, let me know,” I think I’d leave pronouns alone.

“You can’t go wrong if you keep silent,” the woman said.

She was telling white people not to insert themselves into the discussion spaces of other, non-white groups. Save your great opinions and listen, she tried to say. She made good points about cultural sensitivity. White Americans are programmed to leap into the protest march, shouting and waving their signs while vigorously speaking up for the less-fortunate, whoever those poor people might be.

That said, I’ve heard this narrative before. The call to silence white people has gained traction in the recent past. Another part of the same discussion extended that call to silence.

“‘I meant well’ is no excuse,” the speaker said. “Yes, you meant well, but you brought it right back to you.”

Her audience was listening attentively. I expect some of those listeners will actively try to be quieter, will intrude less often into unfamiliar cultural spaces. Less whitesplainin’ will decrease awkwardness and annoyance.

But I have growing reservations about the recent calls to silence. Social anxiety besets many of us. In any staff meeting of teachers, one finds fearless talkers — teaching favors extroverts — but also silent colleagues with their eyes mostly on their notes. These note watchers and takers speak up rarely, mostly when the spotlight falls on them against their will or a huge injustice appears to be underway. I worry that the quiet people especially will simply begin to avoid nonwhite spaces and will cease to be allies in the fight to provide equal education and equal opportunity to all. A call to silence can be a relief to someone who would prefer not to speak in the first place, a justification for avoiding awkward and potentially painful conversations. At what point does that relief become permission to drop issues of social equality in favor of less frightening topics? One reason so many health teachers of the past described anatomy in excessive detail was that putting parts into a puzzle allowed a teacher to avoid the topic of how those parts might be used.

Eduhonesty: Here’s a vote for finding the most compassionate and welcoming ways to ask people NOT to participate in conversations — because sometimes when people exit the conversation, they drop the topic under discussion and never return.

My massage therapist was born in the 1980s, before the internet and school shootings. As we talked yesterday about student anxiety, the demands placed on kids today and school shootings — not exactly the most relaxing massage 🙂 — I was struck by a realization: She cannot relate to today’s students as they get off the bus and walk into their schools.

I catch echoes of today’s fear. I was young in the time of duck and cover drills, of shut-your-eyes-so-you-won’t-go-blind advice. My elementary school’s subbasement had large steel drums of water and food stored behind the black and yellow sign of the times: 

But I am far away from that shelter in time and I was never the most nervous kid on the block. Despite my echoes, I don’t know what it’s like to think you might die on any random weekday because some random kid got tired of being bullied or feeling invisible.

I should probably feel more fearful. I substitute often enough. My past is peppered with scary moments. I tried to keep my students away from windows, knowing a kid with a gun was on his way to my school. We do so many drills that students do not take us seriously sometimes. I have done a few “real” lock-downs and the toughest part of those lockdowns is convincing students that this time we are not playacting.

Eduhonesty: That woman in the temporal window between the A-Bomb and the shooters? She does not know how school “feels” to our more sensitive students. In a sense, I don’t know either. I’m older and I’m numerate. I can assess the odds, and those odds are good enough. I don’t worry about walking into new classrooms.

Many students cannot accurately assess their odds, though. Even those who can run the numbers are experiencing school as a calculated survival risk. Every day, they put themselves out there and the more fearful among them cannot be certain they will return home.

Today’s schools are not yesterday’s schools. I envied my massage therapist. I envy the lucky people who grew up after fallout shelters and before snipers.

Desperate need for posters? I gave the best stuff away, but I still have a laminated poster of a volcano that would add color and authenticity until student art could replace my souvenir of Mt. St. Helens. I will be giving this to a school I help shortly, but I am not alone in having random volcano posters. I’d bet many of my former colleagues have their own volcano posters. Imagine how much random stuff the average teacher collects over his or her years of teaching. That retired teacher down the block? Stop and visit that retiree on your next dog walk.

I don’t sub much in my old district. While the district pays well, I can find fun assignments much closer to home. My old district is lamentably disorganized, too. They fail to post positions I know they need to fill. They require that I turn in a paper sheet with my hours, signed by school administrators. That alone sends me elsewhere. Everyone else nearby is managing subs electronically, requiring a single signature at most. So I pass on my old district — unless an old friend asks for help. I’d help a new teacher there, too, if asked. When actual humans call, I tend to answer the call. I spent a few weeks in that district last year.

Retired teachers should be seen as possible untapped resources. Those teachers are seldom going out of their way to thrust classroom experience or materials on unsuspecting passers-by, but they may have much to offer. Many teachers fall into the category of people who respond vigorously to pleas for help.

So ask that retired friend or neighbor for a helping hand! What do you have to lose except a few minutes of your time? You might get free and cheerful help. You might get access to the resources still stashed in the basement.

You might even make a new friend.