Super Gluing It Together
For the second time in two weeks, I have accidentally super glued my fingers. The first was in trying to glue the handle back onto my rice cooker after the cord wrapped around my leg, dragging it off of the counter, causing it to smash on the floor.
This morning, I was trying to glue a piece back onto my kid’s art sculpture he made for a friend. I barely got the cap off when the liquid rushed out coating me and the painted clay, tearing the paint off of the sculpture and adhering it to my skin for the rest of the day.
Trying to make things better and getting super glued in the process is exactly what it feels like when a family with a trans kid attempts to move across the country and start a new chapter of life.
Moving is hell all on it’s own. I should know. We’ve moved five times in the nine years we have lived here. When you live in highly coveted SoCal, unless you’re in an apartment, at some point the owner knocks on the door wanting their house back so they too can sell their teardown for over $1M. But this time was different. This time our family of four was ready to evolve into the next chapter of our lives. College, a high school with a diverse population and a kick ass ASL program, water… these are our needs.
Despite our attempts to hack The Universe, our next landing point was determined by a rather complicated equation that many of you might be familiar with:
After months of debate, it was really the out-of-state college tuition bill that settled the score. We were moving to Massachusetts to become in-state residents. Go Red Sox!
The first issue was to find a school for Michael. Online school post-COVID is a much more viable option. Brigham Young University has a robust online high school program (evolved from over a hundred years of mail-in curriculum), and despite the university having a history of discrimination of the LGBTQ+ community, seemed like a reasonable choice.
But the number one thing Michael wants in the move is the opportunity to make friends and his first choice is public school. After leaving a private institution with a class of 17, he craves more interaction and diversity. So I began our search for the perfect public high school in Massachusetts.
When searching for a new school, you look at test scores, rate of graduation, student reviews, demographics, even crime statistics. These metrics help to identify (in theory) the best environment for our children to succeed and thrive. If your child is a star athlete or theater kid, then there are coaches, division titles and sold out productions that can tell you if this is the right school for you. But how do you find the perfect fit for the marginalized child? The one who’s safety can easily be upended by which bathroom they choose?
I spent weeks researching school options. In addition to the above mentioned variables, I also sought out LGBTQ+ organizations to talk to and friends of friends with connections into the Massachusetts LGBTQ+ community. I read school safety mandates and dug through Boston Globe articles searching the words “high school”, “discrimination” and “assault”.
Bottom line: There is no way to take the temperature of a school’s hate climate. The best I could hope for was to shoot for schools that had LGBTQ+ clubs, and even then there are no guarantees. Depending upon what is happening in the world, in the news, even the temperament of the kids that make up the class, tolerance will change.
I am furious and heartbroken that the driving factor in selecting which school is best for my child is fear. Not ensuring they are a curious learner. Not mindful consciousness in a global world. Not even academic standing. Fear.
The public school we selected is located in one of the most diverse and international communities in the Greater Boston area, but is also in one of the most expensive. The privilege of our ability to afford this neighborhood is not lost on me and, while I am incredibly thankful, I am also pissed for those who cannot. I have learned a lot about my privilege on this journey; as a cis woman, as a white woman, as an able woman, as a financially secure family. This journey continues to show me the edges of my veil, and for that I am so grateful.
Helen Keller said, “Avoiding danger is no safer than outright exposure. The fearful are caught as often as the bold.”
Maybe the trick isn’t to try to avoid getting stuck with the glue. Maybe it’s throwing yourself into the adventure and accepting that in trying to make the world a better place, glue happens.