Jorge arrived back at school from the four-day, sixth grade camping trip dressed like a girl. He had on a skirt and a blouse he had borrowed from one of his classmates, and he had a scarf covering his hair. When I or anyone else greeted him on his return he said: “I’m Emily.”
Most of the teachers and students who received this news greeted it with a response similar to mine: “Hi, Emily.”
I accompanied my “Hi, Emily,” with a bit of a smile, and I know of no one who made a big deal out of this potentially shocking news. The next day and for the next three weeks Emily came to school dressed like a girl and stuck to the story that she was a girl.
Then, as suddenly as she had appeared, Emily was gone. About three weeks after the trip, Jorge was Jorge again and business of education went on as usual. To my knowledge nobody reacted much to the return of Jorge, either.
Years later I saw Jorge’s mother in the supermarket. I told her this story—my side of the story, that is—and finished with the question: “Remember that?”
She said: “Remember that? Are you kidding? I was terrified.”
“I never knew you were terrified. You should have come to talk to me.”
“No. It was good. I remembered something you said at one of our parent meetings about ‘underreacting,’ and giving kids latitude to discover themselves, and I decided to wait and see. And you were right. Sure enough, everything turned out just fine. Jorge is going off to Oberlin this fall.”
“Well, that’s wonderful. Tell him ‘Hi’ and congratulations from me.”
Each of us has a unique genius, a guiding spirit, a calling, and an educator’s job is to lead that genius out into the world to function effectively and gracefully in it. For best results, children need to grow up in an environment that makes it safe to be the you-that-is-becoming. When home and school are both creating such an environment, we are in business.



























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