"Fired": A Genre Reflection

The blaring ring of the dismissal bell resonated throughout the vacant halls and fluttered into my cooperating teacher's classroom, announcing the end of today's riveting discussion over chapter three of our short novel. As the eruption of shuffling chairs and adolescent banter faded away towards the hall, I picked up a crumpled hunk of notebook paper abandoned on the floor. Just as I dropped it in the trashcan, a twinkle on the teacher's desk caught my eye. The object of my curiosity was a gleaming, sterling silver picture frame embroidered with crystal-like stones and contained what appeared to be a wedding photo. The heartwarming smiles of the newlyweds were captivating and the sight of their joyous occasion seemed to radiate an air of utter bliss. Within a matter of seconds, I felt a heavy sense of sorrow weighing down on me, and the walls of the classroom dissipated like shifting sand under a storming sea.

My overactive imagination seized control of my senses and I was suddenly transported to a stark empty classroom. The smudge of erased chalk was fresh on the board and the absence of sound created a stifling, gloomy atmosphere. What happened to my favorite poster of Poe's raven quoting, "Nevermore?" Why was my classroom library void of any young adult literature? As I looked down, my arms held a cardboard box containing my personal belongings, my teaching certification, and a photo portraying a marriage between two men.

I was fired for being gay.

I desperately tried to fight off the imbued fog of melancholy and grief growing inside of me, but the heartache was relentless. It is vital for me as an educator to encourage pride in differences and diversity, but I couldn't help but wonder if I would be categorized as the inferior due to an attribute I absolutely cannot control. Would parents pull their students from my classroom once they've caught word of my differences? Would administration determine my qualifications to be unfit for the position once this is brought to their attention? My right to marry has been already been severed from my grasp. So will my dreams to educate young adults also be detached from my future? Just as the coat of tears began to well up, a tap on the shoulder funneled me back to reality. I turned to see one of my favorite students smiling at me from cheek to cheek, and all of my previous woes somehow faded away. He asked me what kind of hair products I use to get it to stick up the way it does.

As the students of fourth period Language Arts settled into their seats, the commotion of rustling papers soothed me while the rugged grinding of dull pencils put my mind at ease. I raised my hand to signify that class was to begin. We sifted through our novels to page sixty-one and my cooperating teacher asked the class where we left off.


"To me, this is the singular privilege of reading literature: we are allowed to step into another's life." 
-Nicole Krauss