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THEY SAY THAT IF YOU get a green traffic light first thing in the morning, then most of the others you meet along the way will also be green. They are mostly right. The same must be true when dealing with sex – or at least the issue of sex. Apart from dealing with those women I had to deal with my students too, but their issues were decidedly different – like the e-mail I got from Rawle.
He said that he was doing fine and that his new school was great. The work was easy enough and he had made many new friends. He was happy now that he had migrated to South Carolina to live with his father. Life with his mother and step-father here on the island had been way too oppressive for the sixteen-year-old. Then he said something that made me burst out laughing. He had a new boyfriend! What? Rawle is gay? For the years that I had known him, I had been totally clueless.
I first met Rawle when he was thirteen and annoying. He was good at pretending to be an industrious student but he did very little work in my class. His handwriting was untidy and I felt sorry for his mother when she related to me at a parents’ conference what a tough time she was having with him.
Two years later she got her wish for his father to intervene, but not before I got a chance to become friendlier with Rawle. It came only because his best friend, Marcus, and I were close. Marcus called me his surrogate father since his relationship with his own father could best be described as a ship in a storm. Rawle and Marcus became friends when they found themselves in many of the same classes. Like a child’s pet becoming loved by the entire family, I decided that Rawle was a nice person after all, threw him a small going away party and wished him well.
As I sat in front of the computer I tried to remember some theories I had read on homosexuality. One stated that if a young man was not close to his father, he might gravitate to other men and in doing so – and this is where it lost me – somehow overcompensate and become effeminate. Another theory claimed that homosexual men felt some lack and they tried to have that need fulfilled by having sex with other men; the sexual union would somehow infuse them with what was missing. I did not know what to believe but I certainly did not believe that it was a quirk of nature, but rather, a choice that one made based on the experiences one had, whether or not they lived in one’s conscious memory.
I immediately e-mailed Rawle to get some clarification on his choice. Good Lord, how could a sixteen year old boy decide that he preferred to be with a boy and not a girl? He responded the next day telling me that he had always known about his orientation and being in South Carolina just gave him the freedom to cast off all inhibitions. He could not have done that in Trinidad for our culture was draconian and unforgiving to those who dared to be open about their same-sex preference.
Bullshit! He asked me my opinion and I gave it to him – no kid gloves. I should have known he was looking for acceptance, and from me, a significant adult in his life. But I did not know that at the time and I felt it was my responsibility to steer this young man on to the path of moral righteousness. I soon regretted my candor.
I told him that I thought that in many cases, homosexuality seemed to be another fad. People thought it hip to embrace new ideas and practices. No one wanted to appear unenlightened, archaic – or worse: a religious fanatic. I told him that I felt pity for those people who were truly homosexual, those who for some inexplicable reason were attracted to the same sex, for it was something unnatural. Why did that problem not seem to exist in the animal kingdom? When I think about how our Creator made the woman to fit the man so perfectly when he lay on her during sexual intercourse, and I considered the alternative for homosexual men, I concluded that the latter had to be something perverse.
Rawle was hurt. He thought that I, of all people, would have understood. I was the coolest of his teachers, someone he could tell anything to and not feel judged. I had forgotten that he was sixteen when I got on my moral high horse and started to throw rocks. He did not respond to my e-mails after that and only then did it occur to me how judgmental I was being, not just toward him, but to people in general.
I swore that I would deal with homosexuality in my students differently next time it arose, but I was not ready when it arose again; it came too fast, and it was too personal to handle objectively. This time I was fighting for me.
*
PETER SAMPSON WAS NOT a popular person. They said that there was some resemblance between us but I think the students were just being mean. After all, I secretly thought that he reminded me of a frog – a neat, clean, smiling frog. He was always polite and, like so many of the students in our rapidly degenerating society, he had a sad story.
There were some children I was drawn to: usually the mischievous ones, the playful ones, the bright ones, the ones with a good sense of humor. I was transparent with them as they were with me and their honesty always made me realize what an important role I played in their lives – especially if they were honest about some ugly thing in themselves. I was not drawn to Peter Sampson. His meticulously neat uniform belied his deplorable work. He approached me one day after class to help him with a topic with which he was struggling: physical and human resources. I agreed to meet him in the library when I had some free time.
There was something odd about that first one-on-one meeting. He did not seem to soak in anything I was saying to him but appeared blissful just to sit with me, trying to pluck the long grey hair on my arm.
“Boy, what do you think you’re doing?” I put on my best game face.
“I was just trying to...”
“Just leave it alone. It is the source of my strength.” I hoped that I sounded as light as I wanted and not as horrified as I felt.
“Sir, may I have your phone number?”
“You can always talk to me at school, Peter. You don’t need my number.”
Thankfully the bell sounded and I had another pack of hungry wolves waiting to be fed.
That night the phone rang. It was Peter. How in heaven’s name did he get my number? I did not mind a student having my number but it was to be used only in cases of emergency, or if a parent needed to talk with me and could not visit the school.
“What’s up, Peter?”
“Sir, I know that you are into exercise and that kind of thing. I have some workout videos so I was wondering if we could work out together sometimes.”
“I’m sorry, Peter. My schedule won’t allow it.” It was the truth. I had to do research for a project I was working on and that was not at a fixed time or place. That was why I had bought a home gym. It allowed me the luxury of working out when I had the time.
“Sir, but you seem to have time for all those other boys.” He was sulking.
“I make time for the other boys to help them with their social studies, not to exercise.” I hoped that the irritation came across loud and clear.
“Sir, I want to come home by you. I have some other videos I want to show you. Maybe you can help with some of the things we see on them.”
I recoiled. “Peter, I don’t know what you have in mind, but I don’t like it. Please don’t ever call me again.” I slammed the receiver in his ear.
I stewed. The balls of that guy. How dare he proposition me? I am his teacher, for God’s sake. Not even the girls did that and I knew that some of them had major crushes on me. What does he think I am? I could hardly wait for school the next day. I was going to shred him without mercy.
I felt ashamed as I related to the principal the events of the previous night. My principal was male and I felt sure that he had never encountered anything so bizarre in all his years of being a teacher or an administrator. I felt partly responsible, too, as if I had somehow led Peter Sampson on. My principal called the child’s parents in that very day and his aunt came just after lunch. I filled her in and then we questioned Peter.
“I didn’t think you would react like that, sir,” the angel responded. “I didn’t mean anything like that.” He was not bothered in the least.
I loathed his calm and in that moment I wanted to jump out my chair and beat the living daylights out of him.
“How did you expect me to react?” I boomed. Seldom had anyone in that room seen such an outburst from me and I was sure that they were trembling – all except the despicable Peter Sampson. “Boy, you’re lucky it wasn’t someone else. You know in this country they would beat you to a frazzle if you come around anyone with that nonsense.” I inhaled deeply but that did nothing to calm my rising blood pressure. I made my judgment. “Peter Sampson, I do not want you in my class. If you see me around the school or on the street you are to pass me straight. If I’m coming down one side of the road you cross to the other. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir.” That stupid smile still tugged at his lips. He had thrown out his bait and hoped that this fish would bite. In that one moment, just before he was excused from the room, I knew that I was dealing with someone who had experience in this game. I did not regret my decision to cut him completely out of my life until I listened to what his aunt had to say.
“Peter’s mother left him when he was small and she’s now living in Aruba. He never knew his father. It’s his grandmother who raised him.” That is no excuse, I thought. “The truth is that his mother doesn’t want him and he knows it.” I started to thaw. “He is usually in the house, cooking or cleaning, and we try to get him outside to play with some of the other boys in the neighborhood but – well, I don’t think they like him. He’s too neat – and soft – you know? He used to spend time with a man up the street. We suspect that the man is homosexual...”
I was truly sorry for Peter. How hard it must be to live in a world where you did not feel any love. He was reaching out to me the only way he knew and I’d had the opportunity to guide him, but I had blown it. I was now hurting for Peter, but I had spoken and I was not about to swallow my words.
