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▼LIBERATION

From the mouths of babes

by Clifton Spires

Well, I guess I ruined that young girl's evening at Edison High School in Milan, Ohio.

My wife and I were sitting through the annual music awards banquet-an event that lasts longer than the Emmys and Oscars combined-because our youngest son was a member of the school's Show Choir and was supposed to receive a couple of awards. The way this thing worked, each member

Hey, if we parents don't go crazy on the subject of gay rights every once in a while, who will teach our children to do it

of one of the school's bands or choirs went to the stage when his or her name was called, and received a certificate or plaque for the number of years they participated, or maybe a special honor. Because Edison High School has one of the best music programs in Ohio and possibly the universe, a lot of kids participate in it, so there are a lot of names to be called.

Some kids are truly gung-ho and participate in everything, and so they sit up front. My kid is a guy who really loves music but only participated in one group. We sat at a back table near the beverage counters, which was just fine with us. We spent a lot of time getting more coffee to help us stay alert and more ice water to help us stay cool in the steamy Edison gymnasium.

About midway through—I think the category was "sophomore marching band members who played brass instruments and avoided stepping in ground hog holes on the football field," a category that included about half the 10th grade—I became aware of the group of girls sitting at the table next to ours. As the names were called alphabetically, one of the girls started to comment on the individuals making their way to the podium to receive their awards.

"He's gay," she said, referring to a boy who looked like a young Paul Reiser.

"She's a ho," she said, using the short version of the word whore. The girl she referred to looked like an innocuous, freshfaced cheerleader type.

"He's cute, but sorta gay," she said of the next boy.

"He's a hunk."

"She's a geek, but could be cute." "She's butch. A real dyke."

"Gay."

"Ho."

"Hunk."

"Cute."

"Geek."

"Gay."

"Real gay." "Gay."

I sat there, seething, realizing that the little witch was passing judgment on other people's children, apparently to impress her friends. By her tone, you could tell what rungs she placed people on her social ladder. If you rated "hunk" or "cute," you got to be at the top. “Geeks" and "hoes" were on the lower rungs. "Gays" and "dykes” didn't get to set foot on the ladder.

What would she say about my kid—the straight younger brother of my older gay

son? I didn't want to know. It was bad enough that she sat there and loudly imposed her blasé opinions on any parent or other family member who might be present. What kind of world did this girl grow up in that made her think she had the right to speculate on other people's sexuality?

"He's gay."

"Stop saying that!" I leaned over and put my face directly in front of hers. No one at my table could hear what I was saying, although my son recognized a certain dangerous look in my eyes: The dad who goes crazy on the subject of his kids.

"I don't want you to say another word about anyone going up to that stage!" I said to the girl, who now looked like a deer caught in headlights of a speeding Mack truck. “Not another word about people being gay, or anything else about their sexuality! Just take those words out of your mouth and let them slither away. What are you going to speculate about next—their race?"

"Okay," she said, in a voice just above a whisper.

She turned away from me and sat without moving for 15 minutes. Then she whispered something to the girl next to her and left the table. She did not return for the rest of the evening, which still had about 90 long minutes to go.

Every so often, one of her girlfriends would come back to the table and whisper something about how Muffy, or Susie, or whatever her name was, was crying and wouldn't come out of the bathroom. Then they would whisper something else and look over at our table, at me, the mean man who made poor little what's-her-name cry.

My son asked me, "What did you say to her, Dad?"

"What have you done now?" my wife asked.

I told them. I apologized to my son if he thought it would cause him any future hassles from the girl's big brothers or boyfriends, if she had any. He shrugged and said, "Who cares? You did the right thing. I'm proud of you."

And so it turned out that I got the top prize of the evening, just for losing my temper.

Hey, if we parents don't go crazy on the subject of gay rights every once in a while, who will teach our children to do it? Somebody certainly taught 12-year-old Matthew Schroeder of Maumee, Ohio, very well. Matthew's the boy who spoke up on behalf of his gay older brother and then was beaten up nearly every week for two years by homophobic classmates. Matthew's parents pulled him out of school and are currently home tutoring him.

But they didn't let the matter drop, either. On May 18, they filed a lawsuit against the school district for failing to protect Matthew. The boy's mother, Sandra Schroeder, was quoted by the Associated Press as saying the school administrators could not offer Matthew a safe school as long as he kept talking about gay issues.

No matter how the court case comes out, Matthew is a winner for fighting the good fight. Think about how few of us adults have the guts to say no to bigotry when it's right in front of us. The spineless school officials who refused to take action against Matthew's tormentors certainly are no examples to fol-

low.

Matthew's parents, who somehow taught him real family values, deserve a lot of credit for teaching their child well. Sticking up for a brother is primo stuff, Matt! It's time for all of us who are blessed with family members who happen to be gay, lesbian or anything else in the wonderful rainbow of sexual orientation to let this loving child from northwest Ohio lead us into courageous pathways. When we witness homophobia, we have to stand-up and speak out against it. Plain and

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It can be as tough as taking a hit on behalf of someone you love.

It can be as complicated as filing a lawsuit. It can be as simple as saying, “Oh, shut up!"

Clifton Spires is a journalist and freelance writer living in Norwalk, Ohio. He and his wife are the parents of two sons.