I Was 7 When My Teacher Called Me Gay

I didn’t know what it meant, but I figured it was bad

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There I was, in the changing room with about nine other second graders — all girls — as we hurriedly changed out of our dance uniforms. We’d just ended rehearsal for our upcoming performance to the Ojays’ “Love Train.”

We were giggly, excited and tired. This was going to be the debut of our elementary school dance club. After two grueling try-out sessions, we were the ones who made the cut. We were so eager to be on stage in just a week, making our parents proud.

This was our last rehearsal and the last day we’d all be together before the big day. Needless to say, we all had butterflies in our little tummies. We used those few moments in the changing room to high five each other, help each other change out of our dance uniforms and just bask in shared enthusiasm. Rehearsal had gone so well and we were all so proud to have learned complex dance moves in such a short period of time.

We laughed and joked as we helped each other pull off itchy tights, yank at stuck zippers and peel off stickers from our skin that were used as props.

As I was in the middle of helping a fellow 7-year-old unbutton the back of her shirt because she couldn’t reach the buttons on her own, our dance teacher briskly…