Not this time.

Visibility matters- it can change minds and hearts. And sometimes, it doesn't feel like the right time.

I really like them.

Similar to all parents who visit our little school, they clearly adored their middle school boy:

He is smart, so loving and kind. He works hard but the “school” parts of school just don’t come easy. He can make friends, but struggles to keep them- sometimes he is just… so much.

I smile and tell them that he sounds like our kind of guy. I place my palms on the table and slide my chair back, signaling that it’s time to give them a tour of our adorable, homemade middle school.

I say the words I always say:

We rebranded it to ‘Movement class’ because so many of the kids hate gym.

Art is more than making things here - it’s executive function and self expression and we have a crazy-beautiful albeit kind of random art show every spring.

We pause to chat with an delightful pair of 7th grade friends who I suddenly realize look like the human Burt and Ernie- One tall and precise, the other short and bubbling over with joyful words. They introduce one another, starting with their “flaws…”

Burt: This is my friend, he’s working on blurting.

Ernie: That’s true! I am! And you are working on not getting so mad.

Burt: Yes, sometimes I crash out, but not as much lately!

I can tell the parents are charmed by the happy students, the rack holding 25 pair of muck boots (built by a board member with love), and our Fridays on the farm. I feel a sudden rush of warm pride in my body… I started this whimsical little school. It wasn’t here. Now it is.

I welcome the couple into my office, and I notice their eyes politely darting around, bouncing from the colorful metal flowers on my wall to the small “Protect Trans Kids” sticker on my door, to the framed Converse sneakers I received as a gift for our school’s 10th anniversary.

I invite them to ask questions about the school.

I notice them glance at one another, nervously.

I encourage them- remind them I lead a school where social skills are taught like air is breathed… nothing offends me.

The father sips a breath, looks to the side, and asks me if there is a large LGBTQ presence at the school.

My life- like the actual life I live- flashes in front of my eyes. I try to assess their angle. Do they have a trans child? Are the concerned for their child’s safety?

Or,

are they concerned for their child’s safety in an entirely different way that I suddenly can’t wrap my mind around.

I ask them what they mean.

Their tone is gentle. They noticed a couple of books in the library… the sticker on my door… they wonder if we push a gay perspective on kids, if there will be pride flags hanging soon.

I tell them how we are all different here… that we believe kids should be able to chat with one another about their Bat Mitzvah, an Easter celebration, or a Pride party they went to over the weekend. That what one family believes inside their home may be different from what another family believes, but we can all come together as a community, and isn’t that wonderful?

I look at my wedding ring.

While I think my wife is the most wonderful person, I don’t feel the need to tell everyone about her… but I also won’t hide her, either.

I think…

I think,

I think.

Is this a moment when I should share? I can tell how much they like our school… me, even… and maybe, if I share, then they have met a lesbian. And I’m ok. And I change their hearts 5%.

But I don’t.

I can’t.

Not today… and I don’t know why.

I tell them that our school isn’t for everyone and suggest a couple of Christian schools with learning supports. I am kind.

I do not apologize for my school… or myself. But I also am not open with who I am.

Not this time, anyway.

I had really liked them.