A note on the trauma caused by my Catholic school’s teachings
A few years ago, I had an idea that one day I would write a dark comedy about my experience going to a catholic high school. For many years, I have lived under the notion that trauma plus time must equal comedy or it destroys you. Looking back now, certain things are dark but rather funny—like how one October, they carved a fetus in utero into a pumpkin and left it to brace the elements and rot outside the school for many weeks; or how the year after I graduated there was this misguided attempt at suicide awareness with a food stand in the lobby entitled “Nacho-Life-to-Take;” or the religion teacher that once likened the woman’s womb to a tabernacle and said that only the priest may have access to it; or how once a month they would announce they were taking children to protest outside the local Planned Parenthood then treating them to a nice egg breakfast. But then I remember other moments—how in a religion class two weeks after my brother came out to me, a fellow student compared same sex marriage to bestiality and incest, the teacher said nothing to correct her, and I left the room in tears; or how I had my first panic attack on the floor of my English teacher’s classroom minutes after leaving a different room where someone suggested that the solution to rape is more guns and again no adult said anything.
Now, I was a good student. I got good grades, I participated in most classes, I led some of my extracurricular activities, and got into a great college, but I was vocal about where I took issue with the school. So, while I was contributing to their statistics of student success, everyone around me was telling me what an angry kid I was. From teachers, to administration, to peers’ parents. I was made to feel there was something wrong with me. I know now that this was a serious sign of depression, and while everybody wanted to tell me that I was angry, nobody dared to address the root.
When it came to acceptance it was often said that this school operated under the notion from the Bible that only the non-sinner may cast the first stone. But to me, this always came across as judgmental and a way to isolate rather than to welcome. It implies that being gay or anyone the Catholic Church didn’t approve of is a flaw, and while we can honor someone’s right to exist, there is still something wrong with them and we are implored to keep them at arm’s length. Instead of approaching people with love, we were told to approach with distance and self-righteousness.
All this being said, my parents are liberals. We didn’t put much onus on religion in our household, and for the most part, they agreed with me when I came home angry. So, in that regard, my house was safe. Comfortable. I was being validated in my beliefs somewhere. Not everyone has that. For many students around the world, school is and must be their safe place, and this school missed the mark.
In some ways, I am grateful. My experiences taught me to speak when necessary, to listen, to learn, and to try to be the educator in the ways that I did not receive it. But when a friend texted me this week to tell me that the female lacrosse coach from Benet Academy in Lisle, Illinois was fired for listing her wife as her emergency contact, for the first time in a long time I didn’t have words. But here they are now. I am not surprised, but I am so hurt. I am still so angry. But mostly, I am sad. No, trauma plus time has not been funny. I am sad that this next generation is still being taught the same message about themselves. I am sad that this school is still not a safe place for anyone. I am sad that when they move on to the workforce these kids have been taught to fear wanting the first person they see after an emergency to be the person they love most in the world. This school has let me down so many times in so many ways as it has let down thousands of other kids before and after me. It is yet another barrier to making this world one of acceptance and a safe place for children to learn and grow and feel loved for exactly who they are. So, to the faculty, administration, and institution of Benet Academy, you always told your students to achieve more, but I am telling you now to do better and think harder about what it is you are trying to achieve. You are 130 years old, and you have chosen not to adapt. It’s really about time you learn.
