by Chase Connor
Often, I find that most of us—regardless of our skin color, texture of hair, affluence, or other arbitrary characteristics—have untold stories inside of us simply because we refuse to share them for fear of being split wide open. My untold story was my true feelings about my attendance at Dextrus Academy. Having the luxury and privilege of attending one of the most elite private preparatory schools in the northeastern United States—especially as a person of color—made me feel incredibly blessed. It also pointedly reminded me every day that my country had a long way to go as far as equity went. While I had never experienced outward aggression or harassment as the only student of color to ever attend Dextrus…I could feel it.
No one who is a person of color, LGBTQ+, or part of any marginalized group can explain what it is like to be part of that group to people who are not part of that group. Especially in situations where there are no precise examples of how they are treated differently. The stares, whispers, micro-aggressions, sneers, and superior attitudes from others are a daily occurrence. Sometimes a room can have a vibe, a heaviness to it, when you walk in as the only person who is “other.” The way a room can grow quieter when you enter can feel like a type of oppression. But you can’t call out or fight something that is not exactly visible, so a smile and a head held high is your only offense sometimes. To put it simply—it fucking sucks being labeled as “other” a lot of the time.
But, as fucked up as this is, it’s also an honor.
Dextrus Academy was equal parts a cross to bear and my salvation at all times. A gilded cage that I had been afforded the luxury of living inside for four years due to my father’s employment and my high grades and strong work ethic. A place that was reluctant to become more diverse, but in feeling pressured to try it out, was excited to have a black student of exceptional intelligence as their first attempt at it. I was their show pony. A black student they could point to when they were accused of being too white, too rich, too male, too exclusive.
I was sure I was in an enrollment brochure somewhere.
See there? That’s Cooper—our middle-class African-American student whose father works here. He’s going to be the valedictorian, ya’ know! Who can say we aren’t doing our best to give everyone equal opportunities?
When I walked out of Dextrus Academy at the end of the school day, and then never looked back after graduation, I would be returning it to the lily-white group of male students it once was. There were no black—or any other persons of color—entering the following freshman year. Dad had managed to fight the good fight for the Summer Reading List…but that was voluntary. Nothing had really changed at Dextrus. And, for that, I felt conflicted.
Dextrus Academy—and my grades—are what had gotten me into UCLA with a full scholarship for the upcoming fall semester. Dextrus Academy was what introduced me—a gay, black teenager—to the love of his life. It was what had partnered me up with a new student who had become the best friend I would probably ever have. It opened my eyes to sometimes trusting people when I wasn’t sure that it was the best idea. Maybe people do suck a lot of the time—but sometimes they’re exemplary human beings, too. So, above all things, I would be grateful when I left Dextrus Academy for good. Even if I would probably burn all of my uniforms as soon as possible.
As my dad’s voice began to sound like that of an adult’s from the Charlie Brown cartoons, I thought about the years I had spent within the halls of Dextrus. How it hadn’t all been bad. Remembering the first day that I walked into Smythe Hall and Alex and I locked eyes. How we ended up sitting next to each other in AP Biology in the first period of my first day, and our friendship started immediately. How we spent the next three years being the best of friends, spending nights at each other’s houses, sharing every moment away from school together when we could, coming out to each other…then finally realizing during the first part of our senior year that we were in love—with Logan’s help, of course.
I remembered making friends with Alex’s friends and how they all accepted me immediately and how that made my years at Dextrus bearable. The first day Logan walked into my AP Chemistry class at the beginning of my senior year—and other than the whole Shakespearean beginning to our friendship—we did, in fact, become best friends. How Logan found his first boyfriend in A.J. and we all were probably destined to be there for each other until the day we died. Dextrus—for all its flaws—had brought us all together. For that, it had my gratitude.
I’d even be grateful for all the time I had spent wasting my fantasies on Thom—the hot lacrosse player who was straight as an arrow. Sure, the fantasies hadn’t exactly been the best way for me to spend time, but they had given me a few ideas to try with Alex when the time came. For that, I was definitely grateful.
Dad’s voice drew me from my reverie and back into his classroom.
“So, in conclusion, you little jerkwads,” My dad made the freshmen and me laugh, “I want you to know that it has been a privilege to spend five hours a week for nine months with all of you. Please, please, please, read at least a few of the books from the Summer Reading List. Books open up the world to you without you so much as having to step one foot outside of your front door—though, I encourage you to do plenty of that this summer as well. Your time here at Dextrus will be nothing compared to what you can learn by stepping out and seeing the world as it truly is. So, now that the bell has rung—”
All of the students looked confused for a moment.
Then the bell rang, making them all laugh.
Dad had nearly impeccable timing.
“—I hope you all have a wonderful summer vacation. Thank you for spending your school year with me, young men.”
Dad’s class—one of two freshman classes he taught each day—actually clapped for him. They all rose and filed to the front of the class to shake his hand and say a few words. I couldn’t keep the smile off of my face as I remained seated atop the table in the back of his room and watched the procession of young lives he had obviously touched. My dad and books—they could inspire the most jaded of students. I was going to miss seeing my dad in action when he worked…but most of all, I’d just miss being around my dad all year long. Going to college was going to be an amazing experience, but it would never teach me as much as my father had.
Each student looked anxious, ready to leave Dad’s class, race through the hallways, and burst out into the early summer sun. However, it was evident that none of them would feel right doing so without giving him a proper “goodbye.” Seeing this reaction out of my dad’s students was one of the reasons I was inspired to study education in college and become a teacher. My dad was my hero, plain and simple. Whether he truly understood it or not, he engaged his students and inspired them. He was the type of teacher that I hoped to be once I graduated from UCLA, did my student teaching, got certified, and started teaching my own group of young minds.
Dad was ushering the last student out of his classroom, shaking his hand and patting him on the back when I looked up once more. The student was enthusiastically thanking Dad for teaching him all year long, proclaiming that he was the “best teacher at Dextrus,” and generally just blowing smoke up his ass. Luckily, my dad had been a teacher as long as I had been alive, so the compliments didn’t inflate his ego too much. Once he managed to get the last student into the hallway and on his way to summer vacation, he shut the door and turned to me, clapping his hands together lightly as he smiled across the room at me.
“Well,” he said, “I guess that’s it. One year closer to retirement.”
My grin was immediate and broad.
“And, the spoiled fruit of my loins, why and how were you sneaking into the back of my classroom fifteen minutes before your last class was over?”
“Mr. Freeslay didn’t care.” I shrugged. “I asked if I could leave class a little early to see you—since it would be my last chance to see you teach for a long time. Besides, all the tests are done, so Alex was just bugging me for the entire period while Mr. Freeslay d
id his best to entertain everyone else for an hour. There was no educating of young minds going on.”
“Like you’d know with Freeslay.” Dad stated.
I snickered, knowing as well as Dad did that Mr. Freeslay was quite possibly the driest and most boring teacher in the entire Academy.
“How’s it feel?” Dad asked.
I shrugged again.
“Not as big a deal as you imagined?”
“Thought that bell would make me feel some kind of way, really,” I said. “But I just feel done.”
My dad nodded slowly as he stared at me from across the room.
What does a father say to a son when high school is officially over, and he is left to stare at his now adult son? What advice hasn’t been given? What wisdom hasn’t been shared? What can one say to commemorate such a small yet tremendous occasion?
A father—especially a widowed one like mine—spends eighteen years of their life making sure that they keep another life going. They wipe butts and noses. Teach another person about doing chores, preparing meals, taking out the trash, how to read and write, to add numbers, to manage money, to practice respect, and have dignity. A father teaches their child how to be brave and stand up for themselves, to know that fear does not mean cowardice, that love is the strongest force in the universe. That they will always be there to pick their child up when falling down is all they seem to be able to do. There aren’t words when, at the end of eighteen years and all of those school years, they find that they’ve done all they can do. No words can encapsulate all of those feelings. All that can be done is the ceremonial pushing of the bird out of the nest with the belief that they will fly.
“You’re a handsome boy, Cooper.” My dad said.
I cocked my head to the side and smiled crookedly at my father.
“What?” I laughed.
“You know,” My dad walked down the center aisle of his classroom towards me, “I’ve always told you how smart you are, son. How hard-working and responsible you are. How respectful and polite…I think it’s time to let you know that you are also handsome.”
My dad stopped in front of me.
“Fathers—especially straight fathers—don’t tell their sons enough that they are beautiful on the inside and the outside. I want you to know that you are smart, hard-working, respectful, polite, responsible, and handsome. You are all of those things. All at the same time.”
Without willing it, my head turned down, my eyes on the floor as I felt my cheeks getting warm.
“If I could think of one bit of wisdom left to give you, it would be this.” Dad reached out to lift my chin so that I was forced to look him in the eyes. “Don’t be afraid to say what needs to be said for fear of how it will be perceived. Truth is truth no matter how it is received. You are a handsome boy, Cooper. And I have been nothing short of honored to be your father.”
“Dad—" I couldn’t trust my voice and had to stop.
He stared at me for a moment.
“And I’m so glad that I won’t have your bullshit opinions about certain books in these hallways every day from here on out.” He smiled warmly at me.
I laughed, but my heart wasn’t in it. Because he had only made the joke to keep me from breaking. He was giving me my dignity. The way that only a father can do for his son.
Dad tapped me on the side of my face with a wink.
“Shouldn’t you be off celebrating with your asshole boyfriend and your asshole friends?” He asked gently. “You don’t want to waste the little bit of summer you have to see them all before…college.”
I grinned at Dad’s tone.
“Actually,” I said, “I wanted to know if you wanted to have dinner with me tonight? Maybe Thai food? My treat. Though I will need some cash.”
Dad gave me an incredulous look.
“What?” A nervous laugh escaped my throat.
“Don’t cancel any plans you had tonight just because I said something nice to you, Cooper.” He teased. “You and Alex can go do whatever it is you had planned.”
“I only planned to have dinner with you.” I held a hand up as a pledge. “I swear.”
He just stared at me.
“But, I mean,” I said, “if it’s so important to you, I can ask Alex, Logan, and A.J. to come along. Just so you don’t get the wrong idea.”
The sneaky look I gave him did not go unnoticed. He knew that I had been planning to spend time with my friends and had only asked him if he wanted to have dinner on the fly. Dad laughed and grabbed my face, pulling me forward to kiss the top of my head. Just like he’d been doing since I was a little kid. It had bothered me during most of my teenage years, but the ringing of a bell and a few short sentences exchanged had changed my mind about that. When he let go of me so I could look up at him again, I was smiling.
“Maybe you could also invite Cheryl?” I suggested. “The guys can bring their parents, too? Make it a big celebration? An impromptu par-tay?”
“That sounds like a plan, Stan.”
“Don’t be coy, Roy.” I wiggled my eyebrows. “Call Cheryl up.”
Instead of pulling out his phone or walking away, Dad turned around and hopped up onto the table beside me. He leaned back and laid his head against the wall behind us. Dad’s arm went around my shoulders and pulled me towards him. I allowed myself to slump against him as we sat there on the table against the back wall and stared out at the front of the classroom.
“I will.” He said. “But let’s just have a few minutes here to ourselves.”
“Okay,” I answered softly.
For several minutes we sat there, Dad’s arm around my shoulders and my body slumped against his. Father and son, sharing a quiet, thoughtful moment when words were not enough. Sitting there on the table together, we knew these were our last moments we’d ever spend in Dextrus Academy’s halls as teacher-student-father-son. An era in our timeline had come to a close, and we had to feel the gravity of that for a few moments in order to fully appreciate and honor it to its fullest.
“Was Dextrus good enough to you, son?”
“What’s good enough?” I asked quietly. I thought about it for a second more.“It was good enough.”
“Are you glad that you came here for high school?”
“Simple answer—yes,” I replied.
“Then that’s all that matters.” He said. “Maybe we’ll discuss the complicated answer later.”
“Maybe.”
“I wish your mother was here to see you, son.” He sighed. “Margaret would have loved to see you on the stage this weekend—valedictorian or not. She would have been so proud, Cooper. So proud. I hope I did right by you and her in all of these years of being your father.”
I just smiled to myself.
“Did I do a good enough job as a father?”
“The best.” I turned my head to look at him. “You did a good enough job for both a father and a mother.”
He looked at me for a moment.
“I’ll be so glad to not see you and that asshole boyfriend of yours making starry eyes at each other for a while.” He quipped.
“For crying out loud, Dad.” I chuckled.
Dad turned his head to me and smiled, then touched his forehead to mine. Then we sat back against the wall and stared at the front of the classroom until the shadows started to shift, and we knew that the day was moving on with or without us.
Logan eats more food than any person I know. I’ve always been on the thin side—or “scrawny” as some people might describe it—but I’ve always had a decent appetite. Logan, on the other hand, is a built, tall god who could consume entire animals in one sitting and never look like he would gain a pound. He was the type of guy that we gay guys were supposed to hate—an Adonis who could do whatever he wanted and still look hot doing it. His personality prevented anyone from truly hating Logan, though. He was just too sweet and kind—and oblivious to how annoying his genetics were—to be someone others could hate.
In Montpelier, Dad
, Cheryl, and I met Alex, Logan, A.J., and all of their parents at our favorite Thai restaurant. While I felt that I had some of the best friends in the entire world, I was even more grateful that their parents had made friends with my dad. Being a lowly, middle-class high school teacher, my dad was still readily accepted by my friends’ more affluent parents. Of course, as kind as all of my friends were (even when they acted like they weren’t), it just made sense that their parents were generally nifty themselves.
As we all sat around the tables we had pushed together at Orchid House, talking, eating, laughing, all I could think about was how much I would miss being in Vermont with my dad. Simple things are rarely appreciated for the impact they have on our lives. Something as simple as sitting around, sharing a meal with the people you love, sharing stories, laughing raucously, and enjoying each other’s company are the things that stick with a person for a lifetime. Even when some of the people at the table were no longer with us, the ones left behind would look back on that night and smile. It would bring them warmth in their coldest days. I liked that.
Watching Logan help himself to other people’s plates of food, picking at food that they were not watchful over, made me laugh. Listening to Alex tell the story about the time A.J. took a lacrosse ball to the groin in a game made me laugh. A.J., doing his impression of my dad giving a lecture in one of his classes, made me laugh. Watching my dad give A.J. a noogie while holding him in a light headlock made me laugh. Listening to Katie tell everyone about Gerald the Giraffe made me feel warm and fuzzy. Everything about the night was perfect. I was a high school graduate. I had everyone I loved with me. And—for better or worse—the next day, I’d give my valedictorian speech at our commencement.
