What Next?

 The semester is ending. Although my workload hasn’t been greater than in previous years, this has been a pretty intense time. Some of that has to do with the students themselves, though not entirely in a bad way. But I have also been experiencing things outside the classroom—or, more precisely, within me—that have made my interactions seem more fraught and rewarding at the same time. 

The ride I took to Point Lookout on Saturday and a Sunday visit to the Botanical Garden were what I needed: both invigorating and restorative. I will return to them again, barring some unforeseeable (for me, anyway) tragedy or disaster. Monday, on the other hand, included the last session of one of my classes. Students thanked me as I’ve never heard before. One stayed after to tell me that, for the first time, they felt confident about their future.

You may have noticed that I used gender-neutral pronouns. The student identifies themself in that way. I “outed” myself in that class: something I hadn’t done in any class in some time. “That made me realize the life I want is possible,” they explained. I urged that student, and another who identifies as non-binary, to stay in touch with me, and not only for a reference or letter of recommendation.

I told them a bit about how I began my gender affirmation process. Although I participated in support groups and was working with a therapist who helped other trans people through their affirmation processes and a clinical social worker who was a trans man, I didn’t have role models in my day-to-day life.  Some lesbians and gay men were supportive, but their journeys were, in some ways, very different from mine. For them, not to mention family members, friends, co-workers and other people in my life, I was the first person they knew who was making that “transition.” Now I am giving what I didn’t have.

I confided to them that I’ve been thinking about leaving the US. Sometimes I feel I need it for my mental health. Other times I feel I should stay because of people like them. “Well, whether you stay or go, you’ll offer the same thing you’re giving us,” one student assured me. “If you move to France or Italy or wherever, there are young people like us.”

Where, and how, will my midlife journey continue? Perhaps there is no right or wrong answer—as there is for so many of the questions I, and they, pose.

How Did We?

About ten years ago, I was talking on the phone as I scurried down the hall to my class.

When I entered, one student wondered, aloud, how I survived with such a “primitive” device:  a flip-phone.

Mind you, neither he nor any of his classmates was wealthy, at least to my knowledge. But I was a couple of years away from having any desire, let alone seeing any need, for a “smart” phone.

Now I’ll confess that before my July trip to Japan, I “upgraded” to an iPhone 16 from the iPhone 8 I’d been using for seven years. I really wanted to stick with 8 because it was familiar, but the software wouldn’t update anymore, the battery took forever to charge and the charge didn’t last. Turns out that changing the battery would’ve cost more than getting a new phone, at least with the surprisingly generous trade-in allowance I got from Verizon.

Anyway, I thought about my old student when I got my new phone. And I wonder what he would think, if he were a cyclist, of some of the bikes I’ve ridden—and still ride.

The Aftermath , So Far

 Orange Crush (i.e., the election) left me crushed. People who know me could see it; some of them, I am sure, felt the same way.  One of our building’s managers, however, said, “It’s gonna be OK.” I wonder whether he believes it.

Since Tuesday night’s testament to treachery, I have taught three classes: one last night and two on Wednesday.  I barely heard a peep from the first group. Were they merely stunned, or did they feel resigned. Since most of them are of traditional college age (18-19 years old), I hope it’s not the latter.

The second class is smaller: 7 students. As you can imagine, it’s easier to get everyone to participate. At least, on a normal day it is. But the other day, they seemed as stunned or mentally weary as my first class, save for one student. He, who emigrated as a teenager with his family, became a citizen through US Military service. Interestingly, when we discussed The Trial and Death of Socrates, he was as zealous as anyone I’ve met in his defense, if you will, of the peripatetic philosopher: “He thought for himself. He questioned authority. That’s what we must do.” Thus, I am not surprised that he lambasted Trump as he did; what surprises me is that anyone who wears, or has worn, the uniform could support a career criminal who called the permanent residents of the Aisne-Marne American Cemetery “losers” and “suckers” after skipping out on a D-Day commemoration .

Last night class, on the other hand, was lively, even feisty. Most of those students come in to class from work, and all of them were upset that Trump won the election. One student mentioned Project 2025 which calls for, among other things, dismantling the Department of Education. Others mentioned their fears about health care, immigration and women’s and LGBT rights. Most interesting or all though, was the participation of one student whom I hadn’t heard before. “This whole country will be like Texas!” she lamented.

That wasn’t an idle statement: She was born and raised in the Lone Star State, “near Dallas.” She has spent time in other parts of the state: Houston, El Paso, Lubbock, San Antonio. The latter is home to The Alamo. “It’s all they talk about,” she said, “as if there’s no other history.”

I interjected that I was taught it was a “battle for freedom:” Texans wanted to liberate themselves from the yoke of Mexican oppression and become part of the Land of Liberty. “That’s what we were taught”—about half a century after I was so indoctrinated—“but we were also taught that it was part of Manifest Destiny, which was part of God’s plan.”

“They actually told you that God wanted the US to take Texas?” She nodded. Never was it mentioned, she explained, that Texans were fighting to keep slavery, which Mexico abolished four decades before the United States.

“We have to do away with American exceptionalism,” she intoned.”

People like her are the reasons for whatever hope we may have. She has obviously taken the time to learn what she wasn’t taught and questions authority and received wisdom. I can only hope that people like her aren’t brought before kangaroo courts on trumped-up (no pun intended) charges and don’t have to suffer his fate.