Back when I was in middle school, a group of boys apparently decided to start having “peeing contests”. In other words, they were trying to pee into the urinal from as far away as they could and were making a gross mess in the process. Initially, the school freaked out because they thought there was a leak, but the plumber they hired couldn’t find anything — a big financial hit, given how small the school was.

I’m not sure how, but eventually, one of the teachers figured out what was happening and our principal asked all of the teachers to make an announcement about it in their homerooms.

Teacher: *Very sternly* “Now, we don’t know who all is involved with this, but we know that some of you boys are playing a little ‘game’ in the bathroom, and it needs to stop immediately. It’s incredibly gross and you need to put your pee where it’s supposed to be!”

There was a slight pause and the tension in the room immediately dissolved as she realized the accidental rhyme she had just said to a bunch of very immature and now snickering eleven-year-olds.

Teacher: “Ah, jeez… You know what? You know what? I’m going to recreate that Uncle Sam poster and put ‘Put that pee where it’s supposed to be!’ on it and stick it over the urinal.”

And she did! It stayed there for the rest of that school year, and we never had another urine-related incident while I attended that school.

(It’s Mother’s Day weekend. I have a standard answer for whoever asks me what I’m doing for Mother’s Day that seems to stop any awkward questions. I just tell people “Oh, I don’t have a mother” in a very cheerful voice and that’s usually the end of that, but a coworker has been bothering me all week about my lack of plans.)
Coworker: “So, you’re not doing ANYTHING for Mother’s Day?”
Me: “Nope.”
Coworker: “…but, nothing? NOTHING?”
Me: “I don’t have a mother, so why would I do anything?”
Coworker: “That’s so stupid, everyone has a mother.”
Me: *flatly* “Well, I don’t so-”
Coworker: “Who gave birth to you? She’s your mother!”
Me: “Surrogate mothers are a thing.”
Coworker: *sputters* “Who raised you?”
Me: “My dad.”
Coworker: “So do something for him, then!”
Me: “He hates these kinds of holidays.”
Coworker: “You’re not doing anything for anyone this weekend? Wait, is your mother dead?”
Me: “Not as far as I know. Look, I really don’t want to talk about this-”
Coworker: “If she’s not dead you should at least send her a card to tell her you love her!”
Me: *fed up* “The woman who gave birth to me made it very clear to me that she hated me, wished that I hadn’t been born, and kept me locked in a dark bathroom for days at a time, without food or human interaction, because I was ‘too loud’ when I was three years old. I don’t know her address and even if I did, I would NOT be sending that b**ch a card.”
Coworker: “…oh. Um, right.” *flees*
(If someone tells you they don’t want to talk about something, don’t force them to talk about it.)

I switched high schools midway through my first year and found that, unlike my old school, my new one taught Latin. As another student also joined the school at the same time as me, she and I were given separate lesson plans to the rest of the class to try and “catch us up.”

I was generally very polite and quiet at this point in my life, particularly toward authority figures, but my outward behaviour didn’t always reflect my internal monologue. 

One day, the teacher reprimanded the other later starter because her textbook was closed and she wasn’t even pretending to be working. I, however, was nearly finished with the assignment. For some reason, though, the teacher then brought me into it.

Teacher: “What about you, [My Name]? Are you Superman and able to read your book through its cover?”

Me: “Yes, of course, I am.”

A few moments later as the class erupted, I realised with growing horror that I had actually said the thing I was thinking.

Teacher: “Oh, that’s hilarious, [My Name], very funny. Do you know what else is funny? Saturday morning detention.”

I didn’t have a great home life and my parents had very strict ideas about respecting adults, so frankly, I was terrified about how I would explain this to them. I spoke to the teacher after the class, apologised profusely, and explained that my inner voice had gotten away from me and that I had actually finished the lesson so he caught me by surprise. He thanked me for apologising but explained that he had actually been joking, too. Looking back on it now, I’m not sure if he just saw how panicked I was and took pity on me.

I’m a science teacher at a small high school. For a few years, I’ve also been handing out Vetinari points, or vet points, for students that answer difficult questions, ask truly insightful questions, or otherwise do something to impress me. The students can then trade the points in for a few potential benefits, most noticeably a small increase in a future test score.

A little while ago, the parent who gave birth to one of our students came out as trans and started his transition. It seems this detail has only recently filtered down to some of the less enlightened students in our school, though. I’ve recently warned one bully in particular about his transphobic comments and harassment.

On this particular day, I’m alone in my room during a break period grading papers while the student in question is at his locker right outside of my room. I’m not listening to his conversation at first, until I overhear a non-school-appropriate synonym for penis that I won’t be repeating here, coming from the hallway. Since I came in partway into the conversation, I am only able to deduce part of the conversation between the bully and the student, though it is clear from tone and attitude alone that the bully is intentionally harassing my student.

Bully: “…mom has a [penis] now.”

Student: “You clearly don’t understand anything about being trans.”

Bully: “What’s there to know?!”

I have already gotten up and am headed out to handle the situation, but by the time I get out there, the student has already started responding with such confidence that I choose to let him finish before intervening. He is literally counting off points on his finger as he speaks.

Student: “First, I don’t have a mom. Second, of my two fathers, only one has, or will ever have, a [penis]. Three, I think you’re just jealous I can kill Macbeth and you can’t.”

Bully: “Huh?”

They are covering “Macbeth” in English around this time. In the play, it’s prophesied that “none of woman born shall harm Macbeth.”

Me: “[Student], you just earned yourself one vet point for coming up with a much better subversion of that prophecy than the actual play managed, though you should both use less vulgar terminology next time you wish to discuss a penis.”

Student: “Oh, umm… yes, sir. Thank you.”

Me: “[Bully], I’ve already warned you twice about transphobic comments. Now you will be spending your lunch discussing it with the principal, instead.”

All of us teachers were a little worried for this student originally when his father transitioned, but he proved us all wrong. He handled every question about his father with just as much confidence and conviction, without once losing his cool or lashing out in anger, as he did this time. More than once, I saw him inform ignorant students about what it meant to be trans with such confidence that he managed to convince even some of those who were originally skeptical of the concept to support his father’s transition. It was quite refreshing seeing not only how strongly he stood by his father’s transition but how well (most) of the student body ended up taking and supporting the transition after he explained things to them.

I am an assistant for a Sunday school working with three- to five-year-old children. Class hasn’t yet started today, so I’m trying to entertain some of the early arrivals in the meantime.

Me: “What are you going to dress up as for Halloween?”

A few kids shout out their costume choices. However, one little girl who doesn’t usually frequent our church speaks up afterward. She speaks in a completely serious voice.

Girl: “We don’t do Halloween because it makes baby Jesus cry.”

I swear that was the first, and only, time I’d ever heard someone use the whole “makes baby Jesus cry” phrase with complete seriousness. I had trouble just keeping a straight face and pretending that was a normal comment.

I didn’t see the girl back again. I suppose our heathen church that would allow children to enjoy a secular holiday that wasn’t harming anyone in any way wasn’t up to her parent’s standards.