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Sparkle (9)
"Growing up is hard." That was the email I got from my husband this morning after I told him how my seven-year-old spent the fifteen minutes before the bus came sobbing on my shoulder about how she only got one PTA Valentine fundraiser glow stick even though she sent six to six different friends.
"Other people got more than one. Why don't they like me? I was nice to them," she howled. I didn't ask if other kids got none, because that sort of perspective is lost on seven-year-olds. She was concerned with her experience. She needed me to focus on her experience, which at this point was MOMMY I AM IN PAIN.
It was such a little thing, such an unimportant hurt in the grand scheme of things, but it took me to a new place as a mother. It reminded me of the day one of her friends told her she liked the new girl THIIIIIS MUUUUUCH and my daughter (thismuch). But it's one thing when one particular friend causes a hurt and something else entirely when your child feels just generally unloved and unappreciated and there's nothing to be done about it. I wasn't sure how to respond. Hurts happen, and this wasn't a hurt of grand proportions. Nobody was hurting her, she just felt hurt. Having people hurt you on purpose is something altogether different.
Fast-forward several hours. I saw a tweet with this Rolling Stone article about the "No Homo Promo" policy in the Anoka-Hennepin school district in Minnesota. I clicked on it and found my eyes dashing down to the page count, because even though it was really long, I knew I was going to read the entire thing.
Here's the gist:
At the close of the seven-month-long sex-ed review, Anderson and her colleagues wrote a memo to the Anoka-Hennepin school board, concluding, "The majority of parents do not wish to have there [sic] children taught that the gay lifestyle is a normal acceptable alternative." Surprisingly, the six-member board voted to adopt the measure by a four-to-two majority, even borrowing the memo's language to fashion the resulting districtwide policy, which pronounced that within the health curriculum, "homosexuality not be taught/addressed as a normal, valid lifestyle."
The policy became unofficially known as "No Homo Promo" and passed unannounced to parents and unpublished in the policy handbooks; most teachers were told about it by their principals.
It gets worse. Apparently since the teachers had been instructed not to discuss homosexuality AT ALL, they did nothing when they heard kids being called all manner of anti-homosexual slurs or even coming to them for help with the bullying. They just looked at the kids and ... didn't discuss it.

Even when the kids were coming to them for help. From the article:
Just to be on the safe side, however, the district held PowerPoint presentations in a handful of schools to train teachers how to defend gay students from harassment while also remaining neutral on homosexuality. One slide instructed teachers that if they hear gay slurs – say, the word "fag" – the best response is a tepid "That language is unacceptable in this school." ("If a more authoritative response is needed," the slide added, the teacher could continue with the stilted, almost apologetic explanation, "In this school we are required to welcome all people and to make them feel safe.") But teachers were, of course, reminded to never show "personal support for GLBT people" in the classroom.
In researching this post, I stumbled upon PokerLawyer's response. It's amazing and worth a read. Her argument is best summed up with this:
As a lawyer, I have a deep respect for the law and recognize that, for all its flaws, it is sometimes the last best bastion against craziness that we have in this world. And even then, it's not always enough. Unfortunately, not near enough. (And speaking of the law and craziness, ya gotta, gotta, gotta watch this documentary.)
But here's the thing...in that minuscule, infinitesimal part of the universe, where law and humanity intersects, there is only you. And me. And a kabazillion other people. And how we get along begins with you. And me. And each of us.
What I'm trying, not very well, to say and convey, is that it's not enough to say, "Where are the parents???"
Sometimes I think we all forget what it's like to be a kid. I know I was struggling to remember what it














