I was grateful to find a seat in the back of the church because I knew this funeral was going to be an emotional challenge. The funeral of a 5th grader was gut wrenching under any circumstance, the fact that it was a suicide was more than painful. As a school superintendent for 25 years, attending funerals was always difficult. I reminded myself that I was not the parent burying my child; the least I could do was pay my respects.
How does a 5th grader decide to take their own life? What did we not see or feel or understand? How do we support and attempt to comfort classmates, teachers and staff? What can be said or done for this family that will ease their devastation?
After more than 40 years serving children, it is my absolute conviction that they are better detectors of “feelings” than any adult. Their instincts and abilities to discern disingenuous judgments are laser like in accuracy. Imagine struggling with who you are, having feelings that your true self does not fit the body you live in, being afraid to tell anyone…even those who love you unconditionally. Have you ever been so afraid that you entertained thoughts of suicide? What if this fear was so powerful at 11 years of age that leaving this world seemed your only option? Leaving a world where you were loved and supported by your family and friends? I don’t know about you, but these feelings are hard for me to comprehend…more importantly, it is excruciating to think that I might not have been as aware or sensitive to these children during my years of service.
According to a 2021 study released by The Trevor Project (www.thetrevorproject.org), a conservative estimate of attempted suicides among LGBTQ teens between ages 13-24 is ONE EVERY 45 SECONDS in the United States. ONE EVERY 45 SECONDS.
These children and families are not just statistics to me. They are the flesh and blood humans I have served with, cried with, tried to find solutions with, and attempted to understand for my entire career. Whether it was as the Superintendent who censored a student newspaper in order to protect the “outing” of a lesbian athlete in the 1990’s or attending multiple funerals in the past two decades of students who struggled in finding acceptance or compassion for the exploration of their own sexuality; this anguish is real. These students and their families are not out protesting, looking for media exposure, or vying to be the center of the next court case; they are struggling with how to support their children. They seek medical, psychological, emotional and educational support. They are confused and want to do the right thing. They work with school counselors and social workers to find discreet ways for their children to use the restroom at school, connect with their peers, protect them from harmful judgements and guide them through the treacherous evolution of ‘self-identity’. They consult with school leaders to find peer groups and resources. They are your neighbors. They attend your church. Their children are on your sports teams and in your dance classes. And if they arrive in your classroom, chances are LARGE that you have no idea of their history.
The funeral, here, was set in the ‘activity room’ at the Harley Davidson Dealership and was very unsettling. My discomfort was miniscule compared to the grief of those friends waiting in the receiving line or the obvious pain I witnessed surrounded by weeping teenagers. In order to have a ‘receiving line’ in this facility, it was winding all around and throughout the dealership. Standing alone, the conversations I heard were crushing. His sister found him. His parents were out of town. The service was informal and the Chaplain for the Harley Davidson Center spoke the eulogy of a child he had never met. The digital slide show flashed pictures of this 14-year-old boy. I first noticed there were no baby pictures. All the photos were from early teen years to present. I still did not realize. At some point in this service, the heartbroken father spoke. He was remarkably calm and caring. He invited his “son’s” friends to share their stories. It took a few moments before students bravely lined up to speak.
Over and over, they shared how “he” never judged them and always supported them. Some questioned whether they had supported “him” enough. And then others started to share intimately about “him” going through “his” transition. He seemed so much happier. They were confused by this tragic suicide. He took his life while at home taking care of his younger sister. She found him.
I felt so small and judgmental for being leery of attending a funeral in a Harley Davidson Dealership. I felt stupid for having any fear. My fears quickly turned to the other students I knew in my school system like “him.” How were we building trusting relationships in order to understand their journey and support them? Had we failed this young man? Could we possibly have any comprehension of the difficulties of such a transition?
This week’s passage of the Florida ‘Parental Rights in Education’ bill (“Don’t Say Gay”), evokes a flood of memories of children and families that I know from personal experience over the years. My first thought is this: Do they have rights, too? I cannot fathom how it might feel to see this play out publicly…. legislation that protects your child from my child! In the words of Governor DeSantis, “We’re going to make sure that parents are able to send their kid to kindergarten without having some of this stuff injected into their school curriculum.” Is that ALL parents? Is the identity of our kids just “stuff”?
Death and loss are components of life and work in education that unfortunately cannot be eliminated. Children get sick with terminal illnesses. Students die in tragic accidents. Gang violence takes the lives of others. But suicide, the second leading cause of death in teens in our country (CDC, 2020), deserves our urgency, attention and accountability. And to knowingly take open and public steps to further minimize and marginalize these kids – these developing, anguishing, struggling adolescents – is an embarrassing indictment of our humanity.
As a long standing member of the LGBTQI community (soon to be 61), your points are right on the money. When you belong to a minority community, it’s up to us or that community to push and push and protest and protest until justice is served. The majority community won’t just give you justice as we’ve seen in many countries. I marched in gay pride parades when we got more than just unpleasant words hurled at us. I dodged rocks, beer bottles, got a lit cigarette pushed into my leg, tried to discuss and reason with bigoted, religious zealots who loved to carry signs that stated God hates fags, AIDS kills fags dead, etc. It was not as fun and festive as Gay Prides are today nor did we pull in the big corporate sponsorships like we do today. Most of us golden oldies are feeling the pain of this backlash from improvements we made in the last 40 years. And I especially, feel inept when it comes to our transgendered children. If there families don’t take the mantle of fighting for justice for them, then it’s all of our jobs to do it for them. In my years of experience working on gay rights, HIV/AIDS rights, the power of money in our society holds high returns on justice. In these states where all these anti-LGBTQI laws are trying to be passed, folks need to cajole corporations and businesses to get involved again. Power and money speaks to law makers. We made the biggest strides towards marriage equality after corporations and universities began to honor partner benefits. Also, big business can pressure law makers to not discriminate against there employees or potential employees and their families. These are the practical steps to take. It’s much harder to try and change the hearts of people who refuse to see diversity as a good thing. They have been programmed to dehumanize all those who do not fit into their world. Unfortunately, the best at doing the programming are religious institutions and communities. So they wrap being right in the eyes of god which leads them to dehumanize the outcasts, the sinners, the other religions, and it goes on and on. I see this as our biggest challenge and it has to be done one person at a time. Thanks Bev, my dear sister, for picking up the mantle of justice and carrying it forward.
Heartbreaking.
Truth.