First Year Teacher 
White 
Queer 
Transgender 
8th Grade Reading Teacher 


Q: What do you have in common with your students? 

A: Being openly gay and transgender in the classroom was simultaneously the easiest and most difficult decision I’ve ever made.

​I never had any teachers who were openly LGBTQ, so when I came out as transgender, I made a promise to myself that when I became a teacher, I wouldn’t allow myself to be closeted and risk letting a single student go through my class feeling like there was something wrong with them or like they had to hide who they were. 

At the start of this school year, a student introduced himself on “Meet the Teacher” night and explained that he was transgender and went by a different name than was on the roster. It was an instant flashback to having to talk to my professors on the first day of class, fingers crossed that they didn’t react negatively. So I told him what I would have wanted to hear—to let me know if his pronouns or name ever changed and that I’d support him however I could. 

On Monday, he introduced his group of friends to me. By the end of the second week, over a dozen of my 8th graders had come out to me. By the end of the month, they had started bringing their friends from other grades to be introduced. Before the end of the first quarter, I had students that I’d never even met before coming to my room and asking, “You’re the trans teacher? Can we talk?” 


Q: Does it matter that students and teachers have things in common? 

A: Finding common ground with our students is essential to our jobs as teachers. When we see ourselves reflected in someone else, it helps bring us together. 

One of my main goals in stepping into the classroom was to make sure that my LGBTQ students had the openly queer adult role model in their lives that I so desperately needed in my life growing up. Being a middle schooler is difficult but being an LGBTQ middle schooler takes even more strength and courage.

Growing up, I didn’t have the vocabulary to describe what I was feeling; I didn’t add the words “gay” and “transgender” to my vocabulary until I went to college—I just knew that the way I felt wasn’t what everyone else was experiencing. I didn’t think any of my teachers would understand, so I never reached out to them about the anxiety and confusion I was feeling over my identity.

So despite the difficulties that being out in the classroom can pose, I live my truth so that my students feel empowered to do the same. I’ve lived their fear of being discovered, their hopes for acceptance, their pains of rejection, their dreams for a safe space—they see me, and know that I see them, that they aren’t alone, and I think that makes all the difference.

One point of common ground has turned my classroom into a safe space for so many students that otherwise might not have felt secure enough to open up to me, so just imagine the endless possibilities if we work to find even more in common with our students.

​
Eoin (pronounced "Owen", he/him) teaches in in southern-most tip of Texas in the Rio Grande Valley on the US/Mexico border. Connect with him on Twitter @eoinstein. 

Photo (c) 2017 Kristin Leong

Years in Education: 4-6
White 
Cisgender Woman 
Queer
Middle School Social Studies & Social Justice Teacher

​
Q: What do you have in common with your students? 

A: There are layers to what my students and I have in common. Many of my kids are white. About half are girls. Most are cisgender. A handful are queer. And those, the first spokes on the intersectionality wheel, matter.

The world hits us in similar ways, and we can immediately and visibly relate to each other’s experiences. But I’m not sure those are even the most important ways in which we are similar.

I, apparently, have the sense of humor of an average middle schooler. Recently, a kid asserted that vegans had to be “tall… to get to the leaves at the top of the trees,” and I still haven’t really stopped laughing.

We share a genuine and sincere appreciation of the importance of birthdays.

We agree that sometimes it’s better to run outside in the snow and try to catch it than it is to just watch it fall.

Honestly, I think what we share the most is a genuine interest in each other. They want to know the people they spend hours with every week, and I want to know and understand them. Together, we want to understand the world, the people in it, and the choices we all make.

We don’t always agree, but we are certainly bound together by our mutual curiosity. In my social justice class (an elective that I started last year), this is especially true—and in that case, we’re also bound by a true passion for the subject.

I just did a survey yesterday, asking my social justice students about their willingness to participate in a high-risk, quite vulnerable activity. I explained the activity in detail, and I gave them an anonymous survey. If even one person did not want for the activity to occur, we wouldn’t do it. If anyone wanted changes made to the activity (for example, changing or removing some of the questions asked), I’d make those changes. They have all opted to participate in the activity, and we’ll take that courageous leap on Monday. It may be hard, but I know that we’re all taking care of each other.

With the kids with whom I have the deepest connection, what we share is a willingness to be vulnerable. We’re learning together, exploring the world and its intricacies as we go. Ms Frizzle (the greatest role model of my life) advises her students to “take chances, make mistakes, get messy!” and I think following this life approach together is an important point of connection.


Q: Does it matter that students and teachers have things in common? 

A: I’ve struggled with this question, because I feel equally and passionately that there are two truths that seem to directly conflict:

1. Of course it matters. Students should be able to see people like themselves represented throughout their lives, and that’s especially important when those people are in “role model” positions.

2. No, it doesn’t matter; what matters more is a genuinely caring relationship. I don’t have to have your experiences to care about them, and to believe you when you tell me about them.

I think the reality is that Truth 1 helps facilitate a movement toward Truth 2.

If kids can tell immediately that you share something in common with them, or if they learn about it, they’re more willing to trust the teacher. But if a teacher can communicate true regard for their students, in a way that students truly feel, then that can overcome a lot.

A couple of years ago, I had a wonderful, quiet student in my class. She was reliable, kind, bright, and just a genuine pleasure. She isn’t one who would stay after class and talk, but we had a positive relationship. A year later, I had her younger brother as a student. When the sister saw my name on his schedule, she assured him, “Oh, you’ll like her. She’s really LGBTQ-friendly.” The brother is trans, and his best friend—another student of mine that year—is non-binary. Before they even arrived in my classroom, they already knew that I would… see them. I’m cisgender, and very feminine, but they knew that I could be their ally and advocate. The messenger matters, certainly—but I think the message matters even more. ​

Litza is the founder of her school's popular Social Justice elective. 


Photo (c) 2017 Kristin Leong

Years in Education: 11--15
Male
Gay 
Filipino American 
Upper Secondary English Teacher 


Q: What do you have in common with your students? 

A: This is my eleventh year teaching, and in these eleven years I've taught in Mountain View, CA; Rome, Italy; Bonn, Germany; Buenos Aires, Argentina; and now Sofia, Bulgaria. I share this because the cultural contexts of the places I have lived and the make up of the student body of each of the schools have been incredibly diverse. 

In California, the public high school had over 2,000 students from grades 9-12. Students were predominantly White and Asian with a smaller Latino population and even smaller Black population. There was a large achievement gap that was largely divided by race. 

All the international schools I've worked at have had an average of 800 students from pre-K to grade 12. On average, 20% tended to be American, another 20% host country nationals, and the other 60% of students were a mix from over 40 nationalities. Over 60% of our students are non-native English speakers. Accents and linguistic mistakes are never made fun of.

However, apart from a small percentage of scholarship students, most students and their families were wealthy enough to afford a ~$20,000/year education. For embassy children, their country's taxes usually paid for that. Many companies also paid for students' tuition as part of the relocation package.

Depending on the context, I've had different similarities with my students. In California, the strongest commonalities were with other students who were immigrants or first generation making sense of a bicultural world - for me it was Filipino values and traditions inside my home and white America outside of it. I connected with the students that were assimilating to become white American, inadvertently assuming that American was better and even growing shame for my ancestral roots.

Internationally, the term "third culture kid" is used quite often: the first culture being the culture the students' parents are from, the second is the current country they live in, and the third is the amalgamation of the two. This phenomenon is what we have in common - guests in a new world never fully connected with our home country or the one we live in.

However, regardless of these varying cultural contexts I've lived in, one thing I have in common with some of my students wherever I am is my sexuality. As a gay man, I connect with my students that are either in the closet or are out and proud. We share a common thirst for safe spaces, constantly having our feelers out to ensure we have be ourselves otherwise passing for straight when we cannot. Living as an expat compounds the complexity of this as each culture has different laws and norms for the gay community.


Q: Does it matter that students and teachers have things in common? 

A: Yes and no. Commonality has this powerful ability to build relationships.

When I find out a student speaks Spanish or German or Italian, for example, I speak to them in that language to make that linguistic connection and share our cultural experiences.

Ironically, commonality also as the power to create xenophobia. Too often, students from the same country will only hang out with each other because of the comfort in their similarities but also then to build negative stereotypes of other groups.

Teachers are guilty, too, of having an affinity for students that we have things in common with sometimes letting those that we don't connect with slip through the cracks.


Josefino is a TED-Ed Innovative Educator. Follow him on Twitter @josefinor and read about his expat adventures as a teacher abroad on Medium @josefinor​. 

Photo (c) 2017 Kristin Leong

Years in Education: 35+ 
White
LGBTQ 
Male 
Kindergarten Teacher 


Q: What do you have in common with your students? 

A: I am an out gay man who has stood in front of students every day for decades. To some that has meant nothing, others resented it, for others it confirmed that for them or their friends and relatives – you can be a successful adult and still be your best self.

I’ve had high school students trust me and tell me they were gay or lesbian. Colleagues have also come out to me, although my fellow teachers often expressed that they were fearful of the community's response although they trusted me with their identity behind closed doors. Even a student's parent chose to talk to me when he realized he was gay. He said I was a role model on what could be – living a quiet but proud life, taking the punches and blows,  but showing up every day ready to be there – for kids, for families, for myself. I was moved that he saw me in that light. We’re still friends 25+ years later.

For some secondary students of various minority identities (based on their race, ethnicity, religion, etc.)  they equated their challenges as similar to my experience as a gay man who is also not in the majority. They have often said things to me like, "Well, you know what it’s like…" 

Being a gay male teacher teaching primary students since 1978, I do understand difference. ​I also understand being attacked--personally, professionally, physically. I understand prejudice, presumptions, misinformation, and hiding in plain sight. 

I’ve been assaulted, chased for blocks by a gang of young men, a knife has been held to my throat, a gun has been pointed at my head, my car has been set on fire, I've been spat upon, and more, just for being me.

I remember the first male cheerleader at a high school where I taught. He was straight, and he took a lot of abuse for being on the cheer team. There was also female athlete who excelled at her sports but then was harassed for being so ‘sporty.’ They both found me at some point and chose to trust me to vent, dump, or ask for help. I was grateful to be able to be there for them. Our first conversation in my classroom every year is about becoming friends and our last conversation is about staying friends and these moments of trust are a big part of that. 

I want to think that ultimately both students and I want to be at school. Even those students who ‘buck’ school I believe sense a need to be at school--it may not be the academic learning, instead it may be the social community. But at least they are on site. I can work from that.

I want to be in my classroom every day. Even after 35 years I still think and feel that way. I strive to create an environment that reflects my dedication to my students and they know it. When students cross that classroom threshold I want them to think and feel that they are wanted, their presence matters, and that the room is different and complete when we are all together. Literally, on full attendance days I exclaim, “I LOVE days when EVERYone is here!”

I’ve had students, some in my high school teaching and some in elementary, who did not want to be present. They posture through their various mechanisms – ignoring peers, routines, and me. Students have thrown objects at me, ripped my glasses off my face (elementary student), thrown me against a wall (high school student), in moments of utter frustration. It took longer for those students to see I was on their side.

But, almost every one of my students eventually sees that I really don’t leave, I do what I say, I care about them, and I want to see them in class every day. At some moment, there is always a turning point. 


Q: Does it matter that students and teachers have things in common? 

A: Yes, it does. However, I believe it’s ultimately about relationships. I think this has proved to be true in my work as a teacher with my graduate students through my kinderkids. What did we experience in class? Did they remember what they learned academically? Nah, they remember how they felt.

Thanks to social media I have the good fortune of being in contact with dozens of former students who initiated contact. I’m working my way through trying to see them now in person as adults--take them to dinner, go for a drink, meet their families.

One of my favorite memories of realizing how important relationships are between students and teachers was on Halloween of 2014, when I was married. 

After 22 years of being with my partner, we were stunned when the legality of same-sex marriage actually occurred. After living as ‘out-laws’ for over two decades, we had mixed emotions. We choose to marry on Halloween – we thought, what a scream! 

Halloween is a big day at my school, old tradition. As I prepared my kinderkids for it, I had to tell them I would not be present that year. 

I was so distressed about telling them why. Despite an improving world and social advancements, I was still sweating saying out loud that I was gay to students. So, one of my lifetime great days, my impending LEGAL marriage, was clouded with my own baggage.

To prepare to come out to my class, I talked with friends, told my administration, and warned my students' parents (who were all thrilled at my news). All of them looked at me so matter-of-factly. They loved me but hardly any knew of the attacks of the past and they didn't understand why I was struggling so much.

On the day before Halloween, I told my students that I would not be at school for the festivities. Ohhh, that was not okay with them.

“Well, why not?”

Through sweat and a shaky voice I said, “Tomorrow, on Halloween, I am going to be married.”

“MARRIED!?!! You? Why didn’t you tell us before today? That’s great. Lucky you… etc.”

“What’s her name?”

There it was. The question that I expected and made me re-visit all the past ugly moments, but I so wanted to embrace my joy in their company, too…

“His name is Norbert.”

Silence – uh oh. Some kids whispered to each other.

“Did he just say ‘his name’ “?

“You’re marrying a man!?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“Well, what are you wearing? Will it be a costume? How many costumes? What will you eat? Will people dress nice or in costumes? Will you dance?”

And off they went talking about what mattered most – the party!

I took a breath, grinned from ear to ear and became tearful. I realized I was in a most trusted company of friends who simply wanted to share in the joy. And that is what I needed most to know. I shed several layers of armour that morning and love them all the more for the gift of their care.


Kevin is the University of Washington's 2009 Mentor Teacher of the Year. Read more about Kevin's journey here.

Photo (c) 2017 Kristin Leong