Two topics made the news headlines recently, and for me they converged to produce some very intense feelings.
The first was book banning. In December I attended an impressive presentation on this subject hosted at TCL by the Pat Conroy Literary Center. As I listened, I was reminded of my time in the classroom when I taught To Kill a Mockingbird, the novel that became my absolute favorite and is now on many banned lists.
When I first heard this, I was simply incredulous! How could this beautifully written story that captures the heart of anyone with even a semblance of sensitivity possibly land on a banned list? What were the objections?
I believe every teacher of English has his or her favorite work, simply because we engage with students in discussion, and their perspectives broaden ours exponentially, each and every year that we teach. Any book worth discussing promotes thought and introspection; any teacher worth his or her salary will make it clear that all ideas are worthy of tossing into the mix, even if there is disagreement.
The second topic was the signing of The Respect for Marriage Act. You might be wondering how this can possibly be connected to book banning, much less my favorite book by Harper Lee. What I am about to relate will hopefully provide clarification.
When I taught Mockingbird, starting in 1964, I was very definitely in my element. I felt a real passion for the story that focused upon prejudice on so many levels and the ugliness that could result. I wanted my students to try to comprehend what Boo Radley and Tom Robinson had endured. And so we began to talk about what constitutes prejudice, and how we humans manage to take on this damaging trait.
I began by asking where our prejudices lie, and students were quick to identify these. During this discussion, I discovered that most 16 year olds will try to accept the prejudicial injustice of race, religion, and age. But when I endeavored to make them see that prejudice against those of a different gender orientation, a bias they themselves introduced into the discussion, they balked, stood their ground, and verbally rebelled. I countered with an example of a good friend who was in my high school class and was gay, and how kind and generous he was; they were unimpressed.
And so I came to understand what my friend must have endured all those years ago. During my years of teaching, I often wondered what my friend would have thought of my classes, and I pondered whether or not the responses from my kids would ever change.
It was almost 50 years before I was able to reconnect with my friend, and by that time I had retired. As an afterthought to my re-connection, I wished that I could have gathered together all my students, most of whom are now well into their 50s and 60s. Had I been able to do so, this is the story I would have related.
Gordon, nameless at the time we discussed To Kill a Mockingbird, appeared at one of our high school class reunions that I did not attend. However, I received a list of the names of all in my graduating class, and his name and email address were on the list. I wrote, and he responded; thus we began intermittent communication. He was living on Maui at the time, and when I discovered I would be traveling to Hawaii, I wrote and suggested we meet. He responded, and arrangements were made.
When my friend met me at the ship, the years melted away; I was amazed that there seemed to be nothing strained after so long. He placed a lei of orchids around my neck, hugged me, and I suggested we go somewhere nearby for a drink. Instead, he wanted to take me to his home and spend time there catching up on 48 years.
After arriving at his beautiful retreat in the mountains, I met his partner. We chatted, and then he departed, saying he knew we had much to catch up on. With little effort, Gordon and I began to talk in earnest, two adults remembering the crazy stuff of high school. “Did we really have a course called P.O.D?” Gordon asked, a huge grin on his now-bearded face. “Problems of Democracy,” I countered. “Who thought there were any problems with democracy back then?”
“Carol, it’s not a choice.” Gordon’s voice became serious, and I knew we were about to address the elephant in the room. I had longed to have this conversation because I wanted him to know that despite the fact I had always believed he was gay, it had never made any difference.
“Of course it isn’t,” the seriousness in my voice matching his. “I never thought it was, and God knows,” as I became a bit more worldly in my thinking, I was even more positive, “who would purposely choose a life filled with ridicule and hatred?”
“I always had the notion that my parents never really liked me,” he said. “I’m not talking about love, but liking me for who I really was.” His voice held no pity but rather a sense of resignation. “I’m at peace with that now because I came to realize how much both of them were consumed by neuroses greater than themselves. I am probably something of a byproduct of those issues.”
He went on to say that he had attended a Shirley Maclaine workshop once, and that she had said she believes we pick our parents. “How’s that for irony? Why would I do that?”
The old Gordon’s high pitched laugh erupted, and I couldn’t tell if he was dismayed or amused by this analytical inquiry. He continued to tell me about his time in the Navy in the submarine division, and later his time spent in San Francisco when, according to him, he put every kind of drug into his body. He had a partner back then that he saw to his death.
After three hours, Gordon took me back to the ship. On that return, the conversation was lighthearted, and when we arrived, he got out and opened the door for me.
“Will I see you at the next reunion?” he asked. I could not remember a time when I felt more committed to a long-range event.
The next evening when our ship set sail, I went out onto the deck to watch the night waters rush by as quickly as our lives seem to do. I took the lei my friend had given me, and I tossed it into the foam below, saying a silent prayer of thanks for one of life’s lessons that had been given to me the night before. A hui ho, Gordon, until we meet again.
You may be asking yourself, what, exactly, is my point in telling this story, and I can understand how you might be perplexed. Very simply, I want to try to make those folks who support the banning of books realize that they are tying the hands of competent educators, and keeping kids from learning valuable lessons.
Would I have told the story I just related above to 10th graders? No, of course not. But can I hope that those same kids who, themselves, introduced the topic of gender preference into our discussion, even back in the 60s, gained something, anything, from our discussion? Can I also hope that at some time in their adulthood, they reflected upon that reading and the subsequent class discussion and the light bulb came on? Absolutely.
Teachers don’t always get to see what impact they or the curriculum they teach, might have upon students, but let me leave you with this. A former student who is now in her mid-50s got in touch with me through Facebook messenger. She wanted me to know that she had “come out” when she was in her late 20s, after a very rough life. And she added, “I want you to know that I knew I was gay in high school, but nobody would ever broach the topic. When it was finally tackled in our discussion of Mockingbird, I went home feeling better than I had in a while. I felt I needed to thank you for that.”
It is Atticus Finch who told his daughter Scout, “It’s a sin to kill a mockingbird.” Please listen to the wisdom of these words, and let teachers teach what they deem appropriate. Don’t try to “kill” the chances your son or daughter, as well as other kids for whom you should not presume to speak, might have to gain a beneficial life-lesson.
Carol Lucas is a retired high school teacher and a Lady’s Island resident.
