No Title Feels Good Enough

Today was testing day for students at my school, which meant the juniors took the PSAT. Lately, I've been thinking a lot about the day I took the PSAT. 

I was sitting in a classroom, probably on the third floor, with my pencils and calculator ready, listening to the morning announcements. At the end, one of the guidance counselors got on the system and informed us that she needed to make a special announcement. She said the administrators carefully considered whether the information should be given to us immediately preceding such an important test, but they ultimately felt that we had the right to know, especially since rumors were probably already circulating. 

What news did we hear that autumn morning? A student had committed suicide. She was in the grade below mine and, if I recall correctly, had been in my math class. I didn't really know her, but I remember the shock and sadness that fell over the school in the aftermath of this heartbreaking revelation. We held a mass in her honor, and I remember that during the homily the priest said she must be in heaven because there was no way God could be all-loving and yet reject the soul of a girl who had suffered so much pain she chose to end it herself. This was a relief to me, and probably dozens of others like me, who were unsure how the church would approach a suicide.

I hadn't heard any rumors before the announcement was made, but in the following weeks, I heard some stories that indicated the girl had been bullied. The most persistent story was that some of her classmates had called her a lesbian. She had recently taken a friend, who was a girl, to homecoming, and other girls teased her relentlessly about it. 

I don't know if there was any truth to the rumors. In reality, it doesn't matter. I don't know what the girl's mental health was otherwise. That factored into her story, but I don't find it relevant to the rest of my discussion. 

You see, I can't get over the fact that, in the not-very-distant past, people used sexual orientation as a way to intimidate and hurt someone else. Even if you weren't a lesbian, you were afraid of being called one because it was somehow "bad." It alienated you from your peers and gave them  fuel for their bullying.

Fast-forward to the present. Several of my former schoolmates are openly gay. They have celebrated loving, joyful weddings. We seem to affirm a person's individuality rather than use it to talk maliciously about her. Are we more evolved as adults? Have times changed since I was in high school?

I suspect a little bit of both has occurred. The question remains, though: what is it like for a modern teenager coming to grips with her own identity? I doubt high school is all rainbows now (symbolic reference intended). The fear, pressure, and intimidation is definitely still present in certain schools and regions in our country. Therefore, when it comes to the debate about homosexuality and marriage (which I will not address now), I always keep in mind that girl from high school. I think about other scared, hurting kids around the world. As I mentioned in a previous post, my ultimate guiding principle is love. Do my words reflect love? Do my actions create a space for individuals to feel safe in my presence? 

What if we had done a better job of that fourteen years ago?