Work Text:
“Ms. Burke,” I say, for what feels like the tenth time. “I’ve explained to you, I’m not trying to be rude or difficult, but I don’t feel comfortable having Katie in Mr. Nelson’s class.”
The headteacher sighs, looking longsuffering from her perch across the desk. I’m sure she speaks to unreasonable, unkind parents all the time and I’m truly not trying to be one of them. But I have to protect my daughter.
“Mr. Smith-Samuel…”
“Kyle,” I say, trying to inject a little warmth back into the conversation. “You can call me Kyle.”
“Kyle,” she says. “I get this complaint from at least one parent a year about Mr. Nelson, and I have to tell you, I have never heard a peep once the child in question has spent a single day in his class. It’s ultimately up to you, but I’d encourage you to at least give it a try.”
I set my jaw — I know I sound unreasonable, and I’m just going to have to explain why this is a no-go for my family, as terrified as I am to do so.
“Ms. Burke,” I explain, “you haven’t met my husband, Josh, yet. That’s by design. Katie was the only child in her last school being raised by same-sex parents and she had an absolutely terrible time of it. It’s why we moved. I know this is a much larger, more progressive area, but I have to set my daughter up for success. And I’m not trying to stereotype Mr. Nelson, I’m really not, but having my child who was teased mercilessly for a full year in the rugby coach’s class just doesn’t seem like the way to do it.”
Ms. Burke looks much, much more shocked than I expected at this pronouncement, and my stomach twists. Maybe this area isn’t that much more progressive, after all.
“Mr. Smith-Samuel — Kyle,” she says, and her voice is much warmer than I expected based on her expression. “I don’t make a habit of discussing my teachers’ personal lives. But will you do me one favor? Will you please meet with Mr. Nelson before you decide his class isn’t the right fit for Katie? We could set up a time for you to talk with him as early as tomorrow.”
I sigh. I can tell I’m not getting out of this without looking incredibly unreasonable, and I really do hate to look unreasonable.
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll meet with him.”
—
The next day, I’m back at the school, which is still summer-quiet, with stacked chairs in the hallways and the smell of fresh paint on the walls.
I drag down the hall and take a deep breath before opening the door to Mr. Nelson’s room. It’s typical primary school on the inside — a jumble of chaos, clearly still being set up for the school year — and the man rising from the desk in the corner of the room has such a sunny smile, I’m almost immediately shaken from my convictions about him.
No, I tell myself. This man literally played semi-professional rugby before stumbling into some sort of teaching career. It’s certainly possible he’s not homophobic, but the odds aren’t high.
“Hi, Mr. Smith-Samuel!” Mr. Nelson calls out brightly, crossing the room for a handshake. “How are you? I’m sorry it’s such a mess in here, but I at least got the adult-sized chairs sorted so we could sit.”
He’s tall, broad, and strawberry blond, maybe ten or fifteen years younger than Josh and me. I will not be admitting what I would’ve thought if I’d run into him when I myself was twenty-five and not yet happily married. Not with my conscious mind, anyway.
“Kyle,” I say weakly as he leads me over to his desk and the two plastic chairs. “You can call me Kyle.”
“Kyle, then,” he says, with that same disconcerting warmth. “You can call me Nick.”
“Am I supposed to…?”
“Not really,” he replies. “But Ms. Burke has blessed me out for letting the parents call me ‘Nick’ so many times by now that she’s given up.”
“Mr. Nelson is your father?” I ask, a weak attempt at a joke.
“My father’s Mr. Fournier, actually,” he says. “But I don’t like setting it up that the teacher is an authority over the parents, you know? We should be partners in your child’s education.”
It’s a good line, I’ll admit. But it doesn’t mean he’ll be kind to Katie once he inevitably learns she has two dads.
“Right, well,” I say, “Mr. N — Nick. I wanted to meet with you to talk about Katie’s year. I have some concerns I’d like to discuss.”
“Certainly,” he begins, but he’s interrupted by a rap on the door.
Nick grimaces, then looks up and appears to glimpse the person at the door; his whole expression changes when he does.
“I’m so sorry, Kyle,” he says. “I left my lunch at home today — I forgot to mention I had a meeting or — well, anyway. Let me grab it and I’ll be right back with you, is that alright?”
I tell him of course and he hurries over to the door and, look, I can’t help it. I glance over to take a look at the no-doubt harried housewife bringing Mr. Nelson his lunch midday.
I’m off-base, though — he must live with flatmates still. He is in his twenties, after all. The other twentysomething man handing Nick his brown-bagged lunch is slim and about my height, with dark curls and a cardigan over a band tshirt I can’t quite discern.
He’s telling Nick that he’s sorry, he didn’t realize he had a parent meeting or he would’ve left the lunch at the front desk, and look. Not to stereotype yet again, but the roommate looks and sounds like he might play for my team, to be quite honest.
Is that it? Did Ms. Burke think Mr. Nelson — Nick — can’t possibly be homophobic because he has a queer flatmate? God, of all the straight-person nonsense I’ve heard this year…
And then, oh. Oh. I am an idiot.
While I’m still spying and eavesdropping like a teenager, Nick leans forward and leaves a chaste kiss on the flatmate’s — no, not the flatmate’s — lips.
“Thanks again, baby,” he tells him. “Let me run back to this meeting, but I’ll see you when I get home, okay? Want me to bring back dinner?”
I purposely tear my attention away from the rest of their murmured conversation, feeling guilty enough for everything I’ve eavesdropped on so far.
Nick bounds back into the room, lunch bag in hand.
“I’m so sorry, Kyle. I’ve been awful about leaving my lunch at home lately, and I’ve told Charlie to just leave it when I do and let me fend for myself, but he won’t have it.”
The fondness on his face would probably be nauseating to a certain type of onlooker, but for me — because I am also a very, very blessed man — it just looks familiar.
“That’s quite alright,” I say, not quite knowing where to take this meeting now that my sole reason for scheduling it has been obliterated and ground into rainbow-colored dust.
“So,” Nick says, and it appears I’ll have to figure it out quite soon. “What did you want to meet about? I’m happy to give you an overview of the curriculum, or…”
In that split second, I decide to just be honest.
“Nick,” I say. “I’m just going to tell you the truth, and it’s not going to reflect well on me, alright? My husband, Josh, and I adopted Katie seven years ago. She started primary last year, and granted, we were in a smaller village and maybe should’ve expected more homophobic attitudes, but she had a hell of a time in year one. Her classmates made all sorts of nasty comments about her ‘two daddies’ and the staff weren’t much better. So I’m ashamed of this, but when I heard you were the rugby coach, I was just…I worried it would be the wrong environment for Katie. I was clearly wrong to make that assumption.”
The smile on Nick’s face is much, much kinder than I feel I deserve right now.
“Well,” he says, with a grin, “that is the precise polar opposite of the direction I expected this conversation to go.”
“I really am sorry, I — wait, what?” I’m not at all sure what he means by that.
“Usually,” Nick says, “when Ms. Burke sends a parent in to meet with me before the start of the year, it’s so they can vent out all their concerns about my ‘lifestyle’ and I can get a sense for whether it’s a one-and-done conversation and they’ll be fine to carry on, or if I should quietly let Ms. Burke know that they really would be better served in a different class.”
“Oh,” I say, feeling sad — for Mr. Nelson, and for his partner, and for Katie still, and for her classmates who have parents like that. “That’s — I’m so sorry you have to deal with that. Can I ask…why not just tell her you don’t want the students with homophobic parents in your class, anyway? If she lets it be up to you?”
“Well,” Nick says, “it’s going to sound a bit ridiculous, but I sort of figure those are the students who might need me the most. I don’t want to shuffle them all aside just because their parents are disrespectful.”
“Oh,” I say again, feeling like a dumbstruck broken record and growing more and more certain by the minute that this man is exactly who Katie needs as her year two teacher. “So does that mean…Ms. Burke didn’t tell you what my concern was? You were willing to…kiss your partner in front of a potentially homophobic parent?”
I hope he hears that my tone is impressed, not judgmental.
“Honestly,” Nick replies, “I decided a long time ago that I’m not going to adapt my behavior for the comfort of bigots. If one of my straight or straight-presenting colleagues would do something, I’m going to do it, too. So I keep a photo of Charlie on my desk and he comes in for career day and yes, I’ll give him a quick peck at the classroom door. Oh, and no, she didn’t tell me. That’s sort of her way, though.”
“All she told me was that she ‘doesn’t talk about the personal lives of her teachers,’” I share with a smirk.
Nick snorts. “Yeah, that’s her standard line for the homophobes as well. I think it’s her way of saying she’s not going to dignify their complaints with a back-and-forth — not that that applies in this conversation. She really is supportive, though. The whole faculty is, and really most of the parents as well. I truly think Katie will have a better experience here.”
“Thank you,” I say, touched. “And, listen. I really am so ashamed that I jumped to conclusions and judged you on something like your after-school coaching. That was unfair of me, and it shouldn’t have taken me seeing you with your boyfriend to realize it.”
“Husband, actually,” he replies, and for the first time, I clock the ring on his left hand.
“Oh!” I reply, and if I say “oh” one more time, I will tunnel a hole under this desk to escape into. “You’re just — you’re so young, I didn’t expect…and so many of my queer friends double-barrel their names…”
Jesus — foot, meet mouth. Where is the equipment to start tunneling that hole, again?
But Nick just gives me another good-natured smile.
“We’ve been together since my now-husband was fifteen,” he says. “By the time we got married, it was more finally than you’re too young from our friends and family. And as for double-barreling, we thought about it. But Charlie didn’t…have the greatest experiences with his own parents, and he’s really close with my mum. So we’re Nelsons.”
“Ah,” I say. “That’s quite lovely, actually — that you met so young. I’ll say it one more time, I’m sorry for calling this meeting in the first place. And I’m…I’m quite glad Katie will be in your class.”
“Mr. Smith-Samuel,” Nick says kindly but firmly. “Kyle. Please don’t apologize to me. Charlie and I hope to have children one day, and I plan to protect them just as fiercely as you’ve defended Katie today. You have nothing to be sorry for.”
And, well. What more is there to say to that?
We cap off the conversation talking through a bit of the curriculum for the year ahead, some of Katie’s strengths (she’s a sharp reader) and growth areas (she absolutely hates maths).
By the time I’m leaving, I’m wondering how strange it would be to suggest the Nelsons grab dinner with Josh and me one night. I’ll ask Josh tonight, see what he thinks.
As I walk out the classroom door, I think about what I’ve learned today. It’s a lesson in judging a book by its cover, for sure.
Mostly, though, I’m focused on getting back to my family, and thinking that Mr. Nelson is right — even if I was a little wrongfooted the way I went about it, I’m proud of myself for protecting them.