We’re here, we’re queer, get used to it. Why are you trying to censor that fact?
I woke up this morning to the news that Indiana HB 1608 will be heard at 8:00 AM on Monday, February 20, and my first thought was how early I’d have to leave southern Indiana to be on the steps of the statehouse by 7:30 in protest of it. My second thought was if it’d be safe to take both of my kids with me to do so.
Now, typing this as I wait for my coffee to brew, I realize that my instinctual thoughts this morning so accurately describe the world my kids are growing up in that I don’t know what to do with that reality. “Kids, momma and dad are raising you to stand up for what you believe in right alongside us, but make sure you wear good running shoes. I know you’re too young to remember January 6, 2021, but…”
I think the most jarring part of all that for me is that I’m only twenty-seven. My earliest memories of politics are going with my mother to the polls for the 2000 Presidential Election, though I remember the 2004 election in much greater detail. I turned nine that year, and my family had been personally touched by 9/11 three years earlier; I followed that election through the filter of wondering how the next president would handle the War on Terror and keep us safe at home. It seems almost unbelievable to me that just eighteen years later, it’s our safety in our homes and communities that’s most consistently under fire—quite literally, when it comes to gun laws—and our country is so divided on the most basic human issues. Like the safety of children in schools (“More guns in schools or more gun laws?”) and whether mentioning that not everyone is heterosexual or Christian should be legal in schools.
But I could go on about the changes I’ve already seen in my short lifetime; today, I need to focus on Indiana HB 1608.
Now, because it drives me absolutely batty when people debate the points of a bill based on what’s in the news or on social media without reading it for themselves, I have linked the full bill’s text (three pages) here.
When the bill’s writers say “school,” they mean quite literally any school in Indiana—not just public schools or privately-funded schools (which is incredibly ironic, since Indiana also aims to restrict the use of property tax dollars going to charter schools, yet now they want to legislate what can be taught in those schools they don’t want taxpayers—voters—to pay for?). The objective of HB 1608 is that any educator or employee (or third-party employee, like a sub) at any school may not instruct students in grades K-3 on any matter pertaining to gender fluidity, gender roles, gender stereotypes, gender identity, gender expression, or sexual orientation. The bill doesn’t include any consequential provisions.
I could talk about the issues this bill presents as a whole—how it’s marginalizing, the slippery slope this ideology is putting my home state on, or even how enraging it is that so many people think this bill is protecting students from grooming. But I want to veer away from this and talk about why keeping conversations about diverse families and individuals in early education classrooms is crucial, which is what HB 1608 would ultimately eliminate.
In October, my son’s school had a Day of the Dead celebration in class, including creating an ofrenda. However, because of the way our family is structured, my son didn’t have any photos of a dearly beloved and departed ancestor to take. When I got the email to send photos with him to school, I remember thinking, “Oh, shit—it’s already time to have these conversations.”
For four years, I’ve been completely no-contact with my entire family of origin. While the reasons for why are numerous, the underlying theme is it’s for my safety—physically and emotionally—as well as my children’s safety. Likewise, my husband is no-contact with his family of origin. And though we have a wonderful chosen family including an “uncle” and “grandparents” and some “aunts,” that doesn’t change how other my son felt when he came home from the celebration, crying, because he didn’t understand why he doesn’t have any ancestors.
“I don’t want them to think I forgot them,” he sniffled. “But I don’t know them.”
For the next several weeks, we went through my childhood photos (we don’t have any of my husband) and talked about who different people were. Anytime he asked why I don’t talk to someone, I gave the simplest, most accurate, and age-appropriate answer I could.
Because we get to choose who is in our life, even if they’re our parents, I repeated more times than I can count. Because when people hurt us and don’t want to work with us to fix it, it’s okay to walk away.
Nonetheless, he continued to struggle for several weeks; it wasn’t until I looped his teachers in on the situation and one of them shared their own story of complicated family situations that my son began to relax.
“Everyone has family,” he said recently, “they just look different.” He shrugged and changed the topic back to dinosaurs, and I realized he’s reached a stage at five years old that I only achieved in my twenties: acceptance.
But I don’t think he could’ve reached that without the compassionate discussion in his classroom.
Now, when it comes to HB 1608, as a parent of K-3 kids myself, I can agree that they don’t need to be talking about sex with anyone. Consent, yes; sex, no. But that isn’t what educators do when they mention diverse families.
When I was explaining why I don’t speak to my father, for example, I considered an age-appropriate answer for my son. I don’t talk to my father because he touched in ways children should never be touched. But I chose not to say it because I don’t think he’s ready to know what his mother has been through (though I’m not sure any child ever would be). However, I was still able to explain that I thought through my decision and made the choice that was best for myself in a way he could understand. We get to choose who is in our life, even if they’re our parents. (If you’re wondering: as much as I hope to always be in both of my children’s lives, I don’t believe I’m entitled to it simply because I’m their mom, and I want to normalize that for my kids as early in their lives as possible.)
In other words, there is a maturity-appropriate way to have conversations that have complex notions with young children.
When I think about kids who are growing up in families like the one in which I spent much of my childhood—with a mother and step-mother and step-sisters, who also had two mothers—I immediately think how beneficial it would’ve been to have family dynamics normalized at school instead of ignored. That doesn’t mean I needed to know all the details of human sexuality. It simply means that saying, “Some families have two moms, some have two dads, and by the way, don’t assume someone is a man just because they look or dress in a masculine way” would’ve helped me make sense of the world and likely would’ve spared me a bit of bullying on the playground because I couldn’t answer why my family looked different than someone else’s did. And even if it didn’t spare me the bullying, it probably would’ve helped me be stronger to face it, because I would’ve known there was nothing wrong with me. In reality, there was—and remains—something wrong with the world, because our culture teaches children to shun what they don’t recognize or understand instead of wonder about it.
For generations, we’ve taught children to embrace condemnation instead of curiosity. Indiana HB 1608 will only ensure that continues. If we want a more peaceful, safer world, it’s time we start leading with compassion.
If HB 1608 eventually becomes law, it isn’t that kids will be protected from conversations about sex. What will happen is when their observant minds notice differences, about themselves or others, they won’t be given the support, resources, and maturity-appropriate answers that they very well may need to find at school, because not everyone’s home is safe for these discussions.
By prohibiting educators at any school from discussing what is embodied in the diversity of families with young children, Indiana legislators are ensuring years of children feeling like an outcast at school when at home they’re taught that love is love, including the love that comes in the form of self-acceptance. Inversely, if that child’s home life is discriminatory, legislators are eliminating the only safe place—school—many children have to learn about the world and how they fit into it. If we’re going to legislate anything, it needs to be that we teach children to talk about love.
What love is, and what love isn’t—and how love shouldn’t hurt us but it can be difficult.
How love can be different for everyone.
Where we can safely find love, even if that isn’t at home.
Why love is kind, especially when we love ourselves.
When love means loss, which brings grief.
And that who someone loves isn’t anyone else’s business.