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Another Tuesday

A short story by Joseph Raszagal

"

It happened on a Tuesday. No, it happened on THE Tuesday. I haven't stopped marking it on my calendar since. I had just set foot in the recently renovated headquarters of the local GLSEN chapter, formerly a condemned federal building, and I was sweating bullets. And let me tell you, the transition from that metaphor to something literal isn't even much of a stretch. The little voice in the back of my mind had hit its adolescent growth spurt all at once and moved to a spot in the very forefront of my brain. He was yelling at the top of his imaginary lungs, "This is it, Doug! This is the time! This is the place! You slogged through college, made a name for yourself as a trustworthy and competent educator, and secured your tenure all for this moment! Now you can start doing what no one could, no wait, what no one WOULD do for you and everyone else just like you back in 1985! Don't blow this; you can't afford to blow this!"

I must have chanted that last part as a mantra under my breath for a solid hour.

For those of you who don't know what the aforementioned acronym stands for, the GLSEN is the "Gay, Lesbian, and Straight Education Network" and it exists for the sole purpose of offering homosexual, bisexual, transgender, and gender questioning students the same opportunities and advantages as the rest of their heterosexual peers. My name is Douglas Henry McAdams. I am a 37 year young (or so I'd like to believe) flying fox from Atlanta, Georgia. I am a member of the Georgian GLSEN and have been since that fated Tuesday 12 long years ago. I am gay. I am a middle school Social Studies teacher.

I am all of these things and proud. Even if my tail WERE long enough to drag defeatedly between my legs, it wouldn't. Not anymore. Back then I might have known shame, far more shame than any one man should ever feel for things that he cannot change about himself, but time has taught me acceptance and, gradually, pride.

That Tuesday with the GLSEN in their rundown command center started it all. That was the first day I had ever taken pride in myself and the things that I wished so hard to someday stand for. Now I DO stand for them, taller than ever.

Upon opening those doors and seeing that auditorium filled completely brim with furs and humans from all different walks of life - felines, canines, blacks, and whites - the stronger, braver inner me surged forth and trumpeted, "You can't and WON'T back out of this, Doug! This isn't about you, this is about what you can DO, what you can do for THEM, the children standing in the shoes that you once stood in! Take a deep breath, grow a spine, and get in there already!"

So I did. I went in there. I went in there and came out a new man, literally.

Walking through that room of like-minded teachers, principles, board members, counselors, social workers, and parents, all of whom were wrapped up in heated conversations involving the one subject that had plagued me during my own school days, I couldn't help but feel a bit overwhelmed. It made me think back on all of the painful experiences I had endured along the way, along MY way; the events in my life that had paved my way to where I stood at that very moment. The peach state wasn't a very loving, compassionate place for my kind in the early 80s; I was surrounded on all sides by fervent homophobia, sexism, racism, and speciesism. Every form of hate and prejudice was present during my childhood and no amount of running was ever enough to get me away from it; even my home wasn't a safe haven so long as my father was there, brooding from atop his throne of a recliner chair in the den. Books were knocked out of my paws, my things were stolen, my locker was routinely defaced, my friends were ridiculed simply for associating with me, the football team made a point of beating me into the dirt at every given opportunity, and once I had even been tied to the flagpole and left there to sizzle in the midday sun with the letters F-A-G painted across my bare chestfur in expired cafeteria ketchup and mustard.

It took weeks to clean the stains out of my pelt.

That last gem occurred under the watchful gaze of several exceedingly Christian staff members too, the extremist variety that have been known to picket the funerals of anyone that their faith deemed a "sinner". I distinctly remember one of them, an elderly coyote with a thick Southern accent, sneering the words, "Uppity faggot got what was comin' to 'im," as he strode leisurely away and left me to my hot July fate. It took brutal legal force, far more eye witness testimonies than what should have been necessary, and two whole years to have those teachers brought to justice. I must have considered throwing in the towel two dozen times; I'm still not sure how I managed to maintain a stiff upper lip throughout the whole ordeal. In all honesty, the time and effort put into reprimanding them, when compared to the incredibly lenient punishment that they received, just wasn't worth it. However, that day, also a Tuesday (surprise, surprise), had served to spark the desire to teach within me. I wanted more than anything to someday provide a better, safer learning environment for the struggling young minds of tomorrow. As a result, I grew to both loath AND cherish that awful day; it had scarred me for life, made me wonder how much worse things could possibly get, and above all else... given me a goal.

Once I was able to piece my broken thoughts back together and overcome the fear within me, I chased after that goal with everything that I had and cheered louder than ever once I finally attained it.

So, although nervous and apprehensive, this greenhorned bat spread his wings wide and jumped head first into that intellectual mosh pit of educators. Having been picked on and mistreated my entire life while growing up, I'd developed the temerity and tenacity of an ill-tempered, outcast punk, fueled by bands like The Dead Kennedys, The Circle Jerks, Bad Brains, and The Mighty Mighty BossTones and filled with the desire to help bring about some kind of change. Oh yeah, I was more than prepared to thrash, metaphorically speaking, with even the most radical and rebellious of them. And with an array of members from such political powerhouses as ACT-UP (AIDS Coalition to Unleash Power), PFLAG (Parents, Friends, and Family of Lesbians and Gays), Queer Nation, the GLF (The Gay Liberation Front), and a whole host of others, that flood of brash charisma I had somehow managed to summon up came in handy, allowing me to tangle with veterans far more experienced than myself in the fields of protest and education. It was that kind of energy, that kind of driven angst, that the other members wanted to see more of and once I mustered up the courage to confront them I brought it in spades.

But that isn't all that happened, I didn't just wander around throwing my fist into the air, screaming my 20-something year old head off for the sake of equality and justice. No, my defining moment came when two national reporters, a young boarder collie and his nervous, lioness camerawoman, approached and asked if they could quote me on something that they had heard me spout from afar. Without missing a beat I recounted my plans of starting a GSA, a "Gay-Straight Alliance", at Fletcher Middle School in Atlanta. Nodding agreeably, but in a refreshingly sincere way rather than that "purely business" kind of gesture we're so often met with, the reporter then asked for my name.

I froze. Time slowed down and I fathomed that I might have gotten myself sucked into an episode of The Twilight Zone, sans the song by Golden Earring.

At the time, I had but two options available to me. By hiding behind the comforting mask of anonymity I could turn my back on all of the people with whom I had just joined hands, paws, and claws to fight alongside, betraying them all at once, or I could practice what I had only moments earlier preached by endangering my social life, career, and entire identity by outing myself on national television. Scanning my surroundings for some kind of sign, some indication of what I should do, I locked eyes with my unlikely angel. The fidgety camerawoman from before stood with shaky knees, still holding her tool of the trade, focused keenly on me, and nervously licked her lips as she too awaited my response. I noticed so many things in one instant; thinking back on it, it still blows my mind. I saw her rumpled jacket, clearly having seen more action in that single day than it had in the rest of its existence. I saw the beat-up name tag she wore by a lariat around her neck shift in place as her breathing accelerated, the word "Bethany" printed in bold letters behind a thin plastic casing. I saw the plethora of badges pinned to her braided camera strap, all declaring how proud she was to be nothing more AND nothing less than what she's been since birth. And, last but most certainly not least, I saw the resolute look in her eyes. She was anxious. She was nervous. She was afraid. But she believed in me. This woman that I had never met before in my entire life believed in me. She believed in me because we fought for the same thing; we were comrades in arms. Maybe she wasn't brave enough to step forward just yet and stand in the spotlight herself, the intimidating, emasculating spotlight, but she saw me standing there, doing exactly what she wanted to someday do, ready to either face the firing squad or crack under the pressure, and... and... I don't know. I wish I could put words to it. It was like she was willing me to be strong, telling me without words or any sound at all to bite the bullet. Kind of like the phrase "living vicariously through another".

"Are you going to let her down?" Questioned inner me indignantly.

In that frozen moment, as I stared into Bethany's eyes, her soul, I realized that there was in fact only one option available to me if I had any self-respect at all. Scanning those pins of hers and their slogans of pride, I knew what I had to do. I knew what my decision was.

Staying closeted sure as Hell wasn't it.

"My name is Douglas Henry McAdams. I'm gay, I am as close to married as I think I'll ever get here in Georgia, and I teach World History at Fletcher Middle School in Atlanta." I announced to the entire country, maybe even the entire world if they so cared to tune in to the American airwaves that day. "And, might I add, I am proud of all of the above."

At the time, my heart was beating fast enough to punch a hole through my chest, shirt, and probably a few of the people standing nearest to me too. I also distinctly remember a buzzing in my ears. Who let that bee in there? But, throughout all of the nervousness and anxiety, I maintained my smile and didn't once flatten my ears. A human woman to the left of me started clapping at some point and right after her two panthers (a couple?) joined in as well. It wasn't long before the entire auditorium was applauding me, a whole spectrum of skin tones and fur colors coming together to celebrate the bravery of one of their own. At that exact moment, regardless of race, species, sex, nationality, or creed, we were all one and the same. Scales and skin, claws and paws, feathers and fur, aquatics, mammals, reptiles, amphibians, avians; it didn't matter, we were all still PEOPLE. Along with us, our many straight brothers and sisters whom were present at the moment clapped and applauded as well; so many people cheered that you could have sworn we'd won the battle for equality right then and there.

As Bethany packed up her camera equipment, I saw the tears running down the fur of her cheeks. But she wasn't the only one. I won't lie, I cried too. I mean, how could I not? That day had been one of the happiest I'd ever experienced and likely ever would.

And to think I nearly chalked it up as "just another Tuesday".

I marched into school the next day with my head held high and my heart still racing faster than a supersonic jet. A witch's brew of thoughts and feelings had been bubbling up beyond its boiling point in the cauldron of my brain since waking up that morning. I was proud, embarrassed, excited, elated, and afraid all at once. Elexproubarrassaid? You see, while I was still just as joyous as I'd been during the unexpected roar of applause I'd received the day before, I knew that at any given moment, in the blink of an eye, I could be terminated from my position and booted from the premises for precisely the same reason. Several members of our board of education had been lobbied for and injected into their high ranking seats by the "Reclaiming America For Christ" movement, a powerful group of religious zealots seeking to undo the separation of church and state by forcing extreme Christian fundamentalism through the doors and into public education. These people were sure to strike at me soon, as I now embodied everything that they deemed sinful and evil, I just didn't know when.

Principle Dallas Anderson approached me just as my padded fingers wrapped around my classroom's stainless steel doorknob. I winced immediately upon seeing him.

A graying polar bear of impressive physical proportions, Principle Anderson was famous among local educators for his strict, stern attitude towards almost everything. If there was a chance that something might disrupt his school and bring about a surplus of unwanted attention, he was opposed to it. Seeing his sizable shadow fall over you and his pewter eyes judge you like a jury was a nerve-wracking thing, to be sure.

"Good morning, Principle Anderson." I said with a nod.

"Morning? Hmmm, yes. Good? That's still to be determined." Replied the massive, white bear. "Would you mind stepping into my office, Doug?"

I gulped. I'd only made it as far as 10 seconds into casual conversation and I was already being summoned to my superior's office to receive what was sure to be an ultimatum of unemployment. As I followed close behind and made very difficult to remember smalltalk, I contemplated my last day in the classroom and my final paycheck. Even if I fought it in the courts, a firing based on my sexual orientation would surely haunt me forever; I'd never get a job at a southern school again. I would have to relocate. But how far? Would such a reputation follow me? Even the most liberal of states still harbor discrimination of some kind.

I recall the bold letters printed upon the beveled glass of Dallas Anderson's office door looking far more menacing than usual. Not to mention his suddenly very throne-like faux-leather chair. Would "The King" send me, "The Peasant", to the veritable lions from his perch atop said throne?

Bullets were sweat once again.

"This could be it, Doug." Growled my imaginary friend. "If you go down, make sure to go down fighting every step of the way. Don't bend. Don't break. If one court throws out your case, do what you have to do to drag them to another. This system may be WRONG, but that doesn't mean that you have to LOSE."

Still perspiring ammunition, I sat down opposite to Anderson with all of the steely resolve in my arsenal.

If I had to fight, I would fight.

"Doug, do you know why I asked you in here?" Asked Anderson as he sized me up and down with his steady, unwavering iron eyes. At the time I felt like an ancient Greek warrior trapped beneath the Medusa's piercing gaze, afraid to look up and into what was certain doom.

"I'm fairly certain, yes." I stoically answered. It's a good thing he couldn't see my knees from his side of the desk because I doubt an industrial paint mixer could have made them shake more.

"Good, because I feel that it would be in our best interest if we addressed this now." Stated my boss as he shuffled through some paperwork on his desk and arranged it into a neat stack.

"Addressed?" I inquired.

"We are on the same page, aren't we?" Asked Anderson, answering my question with a question of his own. "The interview at the Georgian GLSEN yesterday?"

"Y-yes." I said with a stutter, tugging on my tie a bit. All of a sudden, it seemed to have become more of a noose and less of a fashion accessory. "I do recall an interview of sorts that day."

"And what an interesting interview it was, surprises abounding, but we'll get to that later. I'm sure you would rather recount it in full detail to everyone at today's staff meeting than to just me." Chuckled the aging polar bear with a slight shake of his head. "Now, moving on to the matter at paw. The GSA that you'd like to start. I'm not sure how easy, or difficult for that matter, setting one up is going to be, but I do think that we stand a decent chance against the board. An assorted few of them will most certainly oppose us, but with a bit legal intervention I do believe their efforts to deter our own can be effectively snuffed."

I just sat there for a moment, muzzle agape with astonishment.

"E-excuse me, sir?" I stammered, a bit baffled. "What did you just say?"

"Yeah, what did he just say?" Questioned inner me in equal befuddlement.

"I said what I said." Answered Anderson with a smile. "Your expression depicts a man who cannot believe his own ears, not a man who's ears are DEAF."

The man made a good point, deaf I was not, but I had to be absolutely certain.

"So... I have your go-ahead?" I asked, tilting my head to one side.

"As well as my support and assistance."

"Really?"

"Really."

"R-really really?"

"Alright, Doug, this is getting rather ridiculous." Sighed Anderson, his expression exacerbated. "Why are you having such a hard time believing me? My SON is gay; why would I oppose upholding the rights of other homosexuals? Wouldn't that be somewhat... hypocritical?"

"Why should I believe you? Just last year you denied same-sex couples from our school the right to attend the spring and autumn dances or have any pictures taken of them featured in the school yearboo~

If it hadn't been for the mirror in Principle Dallas Anderson's office, I wouldn't have had the image of my face as I fell silent, at a complete loss for words, forever burned into my brain. I would like to thank that mirror from the bottom of my heart.

Awestruck for several seconds, I eventually managed, "M-may I have what I just said struck from the record?"

"Consider it stricken." Replied the bear with a grin.

"Thank you for the striking, sir." I stated, still regaining my composure from the shock.

"And for the record, those decisions were made by the board, not me." Added Anderson, grimacing distastefully. "I haven't the slightest clue as to why everyone seems to think I'm some sort of monster that goes about putting a stop to everything even remotely diverse, be it ethnically or otherwise, but it's an image that I just can't seem to escape."

I then shook my head, freeing myself from my stupor, and returned to Earth. Other metaphors would likely work as well, but you get the idea.

My smile broadened in a way that I cannot to this day describe.

"Well, you do have a stare that could pierce stone, sir." I chuckled.

Mulling over that for a moment, he replied, "So, I appear too serious at times? Suppose I could dial it down a bit then?"

"Just a pinch." I answered, still smiling.

"I'll consider it." Laughed Anderson with a roll of his eyes. "But we're getting off-track."

"Indeed we are. When should we approach the board with this?" I inquired. The bright tone to my voice was probably brighter than it had ever been.

"That's a bit of a silly question, Doug." Responded my boss as he spied the clock from the corner of his eye and then stood up to usher me out of his office, the starting of classes a mere moment away. "There is a meeting tonight, isn't there? Shall we rally the troops?"

And the rest, more or less, is history. I've been teaching and counseling the GSA at Fletcher Middle School for 12 years now and do not intend to stop any time soon. I've even had a bar installed upon the ceiling just above the blackboard so I can teach whilst hanging upside down. I am a bat, after all. And while Mr. Anderson has since retired, he is no less a prominent figure in my life. You don't make many friends like him. Fortunately, his replacement came as close as he could absolutely get to being hand-selected by Anderson himself, a 30-something year old skunk from Glastonbury, England with a thick accent, a considerable addiction to tea, and a mind as open as the vast reaches of space. Having been a political activist himself, we had more than we could imagine in common. Yes, Theodore Cornelius Wells has kept our school strong throughout many a hardship and the rest of the staff, myself most certainly included, will continue to stand alongside him as our little school marches ever onward into the future.

Beth, if you could see me now...

"

To every gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender teacher out there who's had to buck the system in order to keep on keeping on: Don't give up the ghost. Sure, it might hurt sometimes. You might even bleed sometimes. The fact of the matter is you have to. Someone has to make a difference. Someone has to pave the way. Someone has to educate the masses and steer us clear of future hate crimes and discrimination. You made one Hell of an impression on me and I thank you for it, now go and make one Hell of an impression on the rest of the soon-to-be inheritors of our world.