My heart broke today. A friend
and former colleague told me that one of my former students committed
suicide. She was 17 years old.
My first impression of Leticia was not favorable. She looked and behaved like an angry cholla. Wearing droopy, tan carpenter pants and a
plaid over shirt, she would sit in the back of my class and attempt to not fall
asleep. She wasn't disrespectful, nor
was she disruptive. She just didn't want
to be in a class in which she not only had to read, but discuss what she read,
as well. When called upon to answer a
question, she would either respond grudgingly or say, "I don't
know." She would also either not
turn in her homework, or turn in homework that was only half completed. But she had lovely handwriting.
I can't remember exactly when she started to actively participate in
class. I wish I had paid more attention
to what we were talking about that sparked for her. It's so hard to see what sparks for
individual students in a class of 30.
Especially when they all spark on something different. But one day, she actually started to ask
questions.
I loved when my students ask questions.
I loved when they answered each other, too. I'm not talking about who did what, when, and
where, but why. I loved when they talked
about character motivation, whether they were right or wrong or just blowing
smoke to try and score points. When
someone can speculate on motivation, they can connect with the character and
story, and that's the first step in appreciating literature.
Let me explain something before I go on. I taught at a college prep school for low
income students, predominately Hispanic students. School was not a priority for most of my
students. They were at our school
because their parents wanted them to be there, they were unsuccessful at the
public schools in the area, they were misfits who were looking for a better
atmosphere, or because our school was closest to their home. Most of the students were far below grade
level.
Our school had a fabulous Early College Program (ECP), but almost all
of the students who were in my class had decided that college wasn't for
them. I taught juniors and seniors, and
by the time I got them, they had either flunked out of the ECP, or they never
had the desire to be in it. It didn't
matter. My goal was to try to prepare
them in case they decided after they graduated that they did want to go to
college. I knew most of my kids would
not only not go to college, but they wouldn't ever open a book to read for
pleasure. I had a small window of
opportunity and only a minute chance of changing this.
So, when I talk about my students starting to ask questions and have
conversations about the literature, you can see how exciting it was for
me. When a student like Leticia started
talking, it made me want to do a happy dance at the front of the class. Now, I'm not saying she started talking
post-modern lit. theory, but she did start to engage. And at the same time, she started to
smile.
I like to think I won her over with my engaging personality and my intellectual
prowess, but I think it was actually the fact that I would dance and sing and
tell stupid jokes and crawl on the floor along the front wall to illustrate "The
Yellow Wallpaper." In other words,
I think she liked the fact that I was crazy.
That's okay. I wanted them to see
that literature could be fun; it could be crazy. I think she got that. I think she saw someone with a passion, and seeing
that, her spark started glowing.
By the time we reached our unit on Asian lit. near the end of the
semester, Leticia was a completely different person. She still had days in which it seemed she
would rather be home sleeping, but she had many more days in which she talked,
laughed, smiled, told jokes, answered questions, told me about herself, rapped,
made fun of me as I acted the goofball.
She became one of the lights in my classroom. She still looked exactly the same, carpenter
pants and all, but she wasn't the same taciturn child who walked into my room
in January.
I remember when she told me that she wanted to be a DJ/Rapper. We talked about how hard it is to break into
the music business. I told her that no
matter how hard it was, if it was her dream, she should follow it. After all, how would she know if she could do
it if she didn't try? She then asked me
why I didn't become a singer (remember, I used to sing in class.) I told her
that I had the opportunity once, but I chose not to take it. I wanted to finish college. The opportunity never came again, but I was
okay with that, because I'd rather sit with a bunch of people and talk
literature. It was a lot more fun being
at the front of my classroom than it ever was on stage. She gave me one of her patented frowny-faced
nods, and that was that.
I haven't seen Leticia since class ended last year, but I've thought
about her several times. She made fun of
me once when I demonstrated my superior rapping abilities by singing the song
"Buffalo Girls" from the eighties ("you got mad skills,
miss.") It makes me smile every
time I think about it. I'm smiling right
now. But I'm crying, too.
Leticia committed suicide because she was bullied. She was bullied because she was gay. This lovely, talented, sweet, tough young woman
couldn't take any more. She gave up, and it makes my heart hurt. I don't blame her for giving up. It's hard to be different, and teenagers are
not equipped to handle the kind of pain she went through on a daily basis. They shouldn't have to. I remember being a teenager. It was hard.
It was ugly. It was brutal. And I wasn't an "other" like
Leticia was. If it was that hard for me,
I can imagine how much more she struggled.
I have no idea what these
bullies said to her. I have no idea who
these bullies were. I have no idea how
long she had been bullied. I have no
idea if I could have helped her had I been there. What I do know is that this shouldn't have
happened. But it did happen. It keeps happening. It will keep happening for as long as people
try to force belief systems on other people.
In my classroom, we talked a lot about discrimination. All kinds of discrimination: racial, sexual,
gender-bias, religious, political, and on and on. I encouraged this, even built lesson plans,
many lesson plans, around discussing discrimination, marginalization, and the
effects on society these negative things have.
I did this to try to stop what happened to Leticia. I did this to try to create a generation of
people who accept a person for their individualities. I did this to try to help create a world in
which love is the guiding factor, not hate.
But how can one teacher in a small school change the world? How can the students take such a teacher seriously
when they see the courts upholding someone's "right" to discriminate
against another person? Why should they
believe a teacher when members of their own government show them how to hate so
much more effectively than I can show them how to love? How can they feel safe to be different if
someone can legitimately bring a bill to their state senate that says
homosexuality should be a crime, and everyone convicted should be put to death
by firing squad? Why would they believe
anything I say, when society is actively showing them that it's not okay to be
a person of color, a woman, LGBT, non-Christian, etc. I'll tell you how.
I can't.
Goodbye, Leticia. We failed
you. I failed you. And I'm sorry.
The Crocheting Cat Lady