I’m a physical education teacher, so I’m pretty much always wearing shorts when teaching.

Parent-teacher conferences roll around, and a first-grade student comes up to me with her parents:

Student: “Mr. [My Name], I’ve never seen you wear pants before!”

I’ve never responded quicker to a comment before in my life.

When I was in the fire academy, the women’s dress code said that hair had to be worn in a neat bun. I had layered, shoulder-length hair, so it was difficult to keep it up neatly all day long. The shorter pieces would stick out of the bun, or fall out around my face, and my bangs weren’t long enough to pin back without using an entire bottle of hairspray.

Most of my instructors were understanding and said that as long as my hair was up and my mask could seal to my face, they would consider me to be in dress code. But there was one instructor who said there was no excuse. “We’re a paramilitary type of school, so dress code is extremely important.” She acknowledged that it wasn’t a safety issue, but told me I had to follow it anyway, and that doing my best wasn’t good enough. She wrote me up three times and then called me in for a meeting to inform me that another write-up for the same issue would get me expelled from the program.

I looked into the dress code and saw that the men’s hair code was much more lenient. It just said that hair must not touch the collar of the shirt or the tops of the ears.

So, the night after that meeting, I went to a hair place and told the stylist to do whatever she wanted to my hair as long as it fit those requirements. She was stoked and gave me a really cute pixie cut.

The next day, the same instructor tried to write me up, but since I was technically in dress code, she couldn’t.

The next semester, there was a man with long hair who wore it in a bun instead of cutting it, and the following semester, the dress code was rewritten to be gender neutral.

I am working as a substitute teacher in my local elementary school. At the time of this story, I was asked by my administration to be the one-on-one aide to a first-grade girl. What started out as a two-week trial period became a permanent position during the last month and a half of the school year. 

This story happens around Memorial Day. The class had just learned about the importance of the holiday, and why they get a day off from school because of it. My little girl has finished her work and is quietly drawing a picture.

First Grader: “I’m drawing a soldier in the army next to an American Flag, Mrs. [My Name]!”

Me: “You are very good at drawing! [Husband] is the army, too.” 

The student gets really serious at this and puts one hand on her heart and the other on my arm.

First Grader: “Did he die with honor?”

Me: *Trying not to laugh.* “Well, [First Grader], he’s still alive, so no!”

First Grader: “But, when he does, he will be honored for it?”

Me: “Yes. He will receive recognition for his time in the army.”

At this point, the rest of the kids in our group begin asking questions about my husband’s job. I explained that his main job is a broadcast technician, but we were sent to the current area as part of his recruiting assignment.

Later that day, I told the story to the staff in the lounge, and when my husband picked me up from work that afternoon, I told him that my little girl was apparently planning his funeral!

I’m half Inuit. In sixth grade, I did a social studies project on Inuit people/lifestyles. During my presentation, I brought up the fact that I’m half Inuit and pointed out different things my grandmother was teaching me.

A boy in the class goes:

Classmate: “Wait, you’re Indian?!”

Me: “Well, ‘Canadian Indian’ refers to First Nations, but Inuit are more—”

Classmate: “—How can you be an Indian? I thought they were like… extinct?”

Teacher: “And this is why we need this class! Keep going, [My Name].”

I’m a teacher, and this was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever encountered.

A parent stopped me in the parking lot to confront me because I made her child cry. How did I make her child cry, you might ask? I “forced participation” by making every child answer to their own name in attendance.

Yeah. Her child supposedly broke down sobbing to Mommy, because he was told to say his name so I could take attendance.

Then she pulled out her phone; she had been recording our interaction from the beginning. She kept recording while telling me that her child “no longer participates in attendance culture.”

I thought I was somehow caught in a satire skit on YouTube, but it wasn’t satire. 

She told me that forcing her son to say his name without permission was harmful and that I needed to create a silent attendance system. She ordered me, and I mean flat-out ordered me, to figure it out since I’m the professional. She said that regardless of what I did, she was going to escalate this matter to make sure I would no longer be able to force her poor, traumatized child to respond to attendance.

So she filed a complaint, but not with the vice principal; with someone higher. 

I have taught for YEARS, and this is the first time I have ever gotten a complaint for taking attendance. 

After that conversation, I just went back to my desk and sat there in total silence, trying to process what I had lived through. 

I was BCC’d in an email from the school board. In much more professional language, the response to her complaint was as follows:

Email: “Ma’am, you’re perfectly within your rights to file a legitimate complaint on behalf of your son. However, I must also make it very clear that we will not be taking any more time on this, frankly frivolous, complaint about your child answering attendance. If your child fails to acknowledge attendance, they will be marked absent and given a zero or a failing grade for the day. If your child cannot handle participating in attendance, then your child can be excluded from all participation, and he can be made to sit and be silent while all the other children are included and have fun. If there’s concern that your child might have special needs to be addressed, please reach out to the school counselor. Otherwise, we will treat this matter as closed and will expect your son to participate in class like every other student is expected to.”

The funny thing is, after all this, the kid still showed up to class, answered attendance like all the other kids, and even asked what we were doing today. I guess he can still participate, despite the violent trauma of having to say his name on the very first day!

The school does have Special Ed, where children who have disabilities are given special accommodations, and the teacher is fully able to communicate even with nonverbal students who can’t say their name or speak well. That class is a bit noisier than most, but it’s because the kids excitedly shout out the answer to questions. Now that the subjects finally make sense, they’re happy to be part of the lesson.