AN OPEN LETTER TO THE GOVERNOR OF FLORIDA, REGARDING WHAT EXACTLY ABOUT MY CHILDHOOD WAS SO VERY INNOCENT AND NATURAL
was it protecting my innocence, governor, when we stood with our sweaty palms pressed together in a little circle, praying some adult step in and save the white rhino. when we huddled around a wood stove, sitting through yet-another worst-weather-on-record. running our hands over the dry dirt and learning monarch butterflies are going extinct in our lifetime.
was it protecting my innocence, governor, when we pressed our tender bodies like little shivering leaves closer to the back of the classroom, eyes closed, waiting for the shooting drill to end? i don’t know if you’ve been through one, governor, but it isn’t like a fire drill. nobody laughs. nobody talks. we all wait for the gray slip of death to pass us over; knowing - tomorrow might actually be the one.
was it protecting my innocence when our parents were suddenly all out of jobs. was it natural how many of us were living out of cars. how our school milk came soured, how we would skip eating rather than admit we didn’t have enough to pay off our “lunch debt,” how many of us were dropping out and working-for-a-bit.
was it natural and innocent when we were bullied within an inch of our life. how the school knew and did nothing. how people we trusted groomed us to be okay with men ogling. sex ed from the wrong kids, from the television, from pornography. shame pulsing through every inch of our bodies. believing that at 13 we could be something like tempting.
was it just the normal progression of things, i mean. was it god’s honest plan how many of us wound up sick in a gutter with something running through our systems. the designer drugs and the nicotine addictions. i broke my wrist, governor. i was 15, and they put me on opiates.
was it protecting my innocence, governor, and i don’t mean to be rude - but when my graduating class began to commit suicide, was that the innocence? is it an acceptable loss to you? that some of us will just not make it out of childhood alive - but then. for those like me, i guess, you don’t care if we do.
which part. i’m asking genuinely, now. my childhood never got to be the idyllic american dream. my childhood doesn’t look like yours. it looks like no generation before me. we watched the internet grow up with us, destroy us, destroy our self-esteem. those who came after you - we didn’t get to live in ignorance. it wasn’t an option, despite your priorities. it turns out what you don’t teach, children learn in their own way: and that learning is usually ugly.
i just want to know. i had an excellent education. i had it easy. and if innocence is what you are protecting, sir, as an educator, i’m happy to agree. but i’d love to know how being raised ashamed of being gay actually somehow protected me. how it made my life easier, smooth, free of cruelty.
when you’re ready, sir, i’d love to talk about public education policy. but in the meantime, if i may:
stop fucking talking.
