The thing is, when I started this work two years ago I had little experience with children. To be honest, they frightened me. I don't know why. Perhaps, it has something to do with my own connection to childhood.
My mother actually had a daycare for many years in the house, but I avoided it at all costs. To my mind, children and the act of having one were associated intricately with this idea of womanliness. Mothering is essentially one of *the* most womanly acts. And since I never saw myself as a woman, the idea of conception and, therefore, this motherly connection to babies always kept me at a distance from children. I never wanted to be associated with that idea of woman and her role. And furthermore, I just simply couldn't relate to that way of being that mothers seem to have. Of course, the father role was simply unthinkable. There were no such role models available.
A few years ago, I was driving around Vancouver doing outreach and as we drove past a school yard I instinctively cringed at the sounds of children in the playground. I asked myself why? Why would joyous, raucous happy kid sounds be disturbing to me? How odd. I figured I needed to give myself permission to be a kid, in order to relate to kids.
Flash forward to working with 10 and 12 year olds. There was one day I was waiting outside the classroom with skateboard in hand. A little boy approached and said: "Umm, can I ask you a question?" "Yes, sure" I said. "What is it?"
"Are you a boy or a girl?" "Well," I said, "That's a personal question and some people might not be comfortable to answer. But, what I can tell you is - I am who I am."
"Oh," he said. "Okay." And with that, he turned and went back about his business. I couldn't help but think the little guy, despite his innocence, knew he was asking a provocative question and was wanting to see my reaction. I actually was amazed at his gall. Although his question was valid, it reminded me of my early schoolyard experiences and I immediately was transported back to grade school. Little did I know that as a 30 year old, standing up in front of classrooms filled with children would create such discomfort around my gender.
There is something about the youthful gaze - that unselfconscious curiosity that openly and earnestly gawks at things that don't fit or make sense, that I wasn't prepared for as an adult cross gendered minority educator. I was affected by their gaze like a specimen in a lab.
Gender roles in elementary school are still very binary, and very few children have been exposed to a masculine presenting, female appearing person. Naturally, they would be curious. Some would whisper to each other. Others would stare aloofly. Some wouldn't care. Others would be subtly avoidant.
The impact of putting myself out there into a youth context for consumption by their gaze had an unexpected effect on me. I felt like I was 8 yrs old again, only this time I wasn't hiding my gender. I was living it for my peers to see. And, see they did.
Out of the many children I became acquainted with during this time, I realized this act of underlying live education was probably the most valuable aspect of my presentation. Sure, teaching kids how to manage their emotions and deal with peer pressure to use substances was important. But, showing them someone who doesn't fit in and who presents an alternative way of being in the world, might have impacted them more than I will know. And perhaps it is the greater contribution.
For that, it was worth it.
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