The sixth graders were more chatty and disruptive today but I don’t take it personally anymore. If I have to stop class five times so that they can calm down from Mountain Dew or hormones or whatever, so be it.
In my last class of the day, one girl stopped me as I was walking around checking writing.
“Teacher, 털!” She said, excitedly pointing between the dark hair on my arms and the matching dark hair on hers. Very few of my students have any noticeable arm hair.
“Hey, you’re right! Arm hair! Woohoo!” We bumped our arms together in a hairy high five approximation.
I decided a long time ago that society already made me shave my legs; I was not also going to willingly shave the perfectly soft and harmless hair on my arms. Last week, a fourth grade girl even pet my arm in fascination, like it was a small animal.
I do on occasion get embarrassed because, like many of my physical features here, it’s a standout.
But in a weird way, I’m glad my students get to see it. Representation matters, and there’s at least one girl who can feel comforted knowing her amazing and fabulous teacher lets the arm hair fly free.