Connecting on Castro Street

I live in the heart of conservatism, California’s south Central Valley. It’s my neighbors here who voted to protect marriage by denying that same right to gays. It makes for a challenging place to teach, and most of us keep our political views to ourselves, at least in the classroom.

Nevertheless, when a Rutgers student committed suicide after his roommate aired video of him “making out with a dude,” a small flurry of messages – well, at least four – hit our all-campus email.

Uncharacteristically, I joined in:

Some people may protest that the students at Rutgers were only playing a prank – they didn’t really hate the student involved. But actions have consequences, no matter what the intention. And that’s the angle I plan to take when I talk about this issue in class. . . . this isn’t a matter of politics – it’s a matter of basic decency and civility. I hope a discussion will help our students realize that words and actions have power, sometimes even more than intended.

Having thus committed myself, I had to follow through. I shared the Rutgers student article in every class. On the whole, even those students who “disagree with that lifestyle” were appalled by the roommate’s actions. I also mentioned the “Safe Zone” sticker on my door. It shouldn’t be necessary to label myself as “safe” – comfortable with gay concerns – but apparently it is.

Yesterday, I visited San Francisco with a group of students. Some had never been to this city before, never ridden a train, never bought a ticket for the subway – and perhaps never knowingly met someone who was gay.

Toward the end of the day, we all rode the trolley up Market Street to the Castro District. It was a lovely blue-skied day, with rainbow flags catching the sun. We saw a few presumably gay couples, a poster for drag queen shows, a shop with videos featuring two men, and a number of random tourists. Pretty tame stuff, really.

Nevertheless, our students found it intense. They were a bit uncomfortable – as shown by the nervous giggles – but still fascinated. The high point was apparently the guy in high heels with the purple wig. “I like your hair,” someone told him, meaning it.

As we descended into the station at Harvey Milk Square, I mentioned that I’d almost watched the opening of “Milk” at the Castro Theater. “That would have been so awesome!” one student exclaimed. “I loved that film!”

So, now and then, I see a glimmer of hope. Even the language suggests possibilities: the phrase “gay marriage” would have seemed unthinkable a few years ago. If language can change, maybe attitudes will follow.

Last week, when we talked about the Rutgers suicide in one class, the only anti-gay comments came from two thirty-something students. Many of the eighteen-year-olds claimed to have gay cousins or friends; most seemed at least somewhat accepting.

I think the change will come, but it feels slow. After all, it’s bullying by other teens that seems to have led to the current rash of gay student suicides.

Maybe it’s a mistake to keep our views to ourselves. I still think my teaching is most effective when I avoid pushing my own beliefs. But opening students’ eyes is another matter. And when it comes to basic civility and decency, we definitely need to take a stand.

The Power of Blogging

Blogging has power. I don’t mean power in affecting my readers, assuming there are any – I mean power in its effect on me.

When I first started consistently writing this blog in July, I didn’t know which direction it would go. The focus on hiking came as a surprise. What about all those other things I’d meant to write?

But somewhere in those early entries, I’d challenged myself. “I still want to reach those High Sierra Lakes,” I wrote in an early post. A few days later, struggling to reach a 9,000-foot meadow, I wondered whether I could even climb another thousand feet.

To my own surprise, the weekly hikes paid off – by mid-August, I’d carried my pack up Kearsarge Pass, at nearly 12,000 feet. And below me lay the lakes I’d longed to see.

But it wasn’t just the hiking that helped. There was something about the words – writing and publicizing them – that kept me going. Writing has power; words have consequences. Plodding up the trail, I composed blog entries. Most never reached the page, but even thinking the words gave me focus. It’s partly the blogging that helped me reach the High Sierras at last.

These days, I’m not writing much. Fall semester started immediately after that last hike. The words still write themselves in my head, but teaching and grading control my life.

Still, it makes me wonder. What else could I achieve? Maybe not the whole Crest Trail or a PhD – at least, not right now – but a finished novel?

Or, on a smaller scale, some story submissions or a few photos at a local gallery? Maybe, even, a less chaotic house before December, when my sixtieth birthday rolls around?