Today is International Transgender Day of Visibility. Yet, despite everything that's happened at work, I'm not feeling very visible right now. I'm literally not allowed to leave the fucking house. How can I be visible from my couch?

For the past two weeks, we have been working from home. The Superintendent sent a letter closing all schools and shifting us to remote instruction–appropriately enough–on Friday the 13th. At first, it was temporary. A week. But last Friday it became a month. I have a sneaking suspicion that soon it's going to be indefinite.

I must only use the phrase "working from home". Tiffany won't let me say that we are in "quarantine" because we have no known exposures. Apparently, "quarantine" is a dirty word. Or at least taboo. Something reserved for people who either have or might have Covid. Which, as far as we know, we don't.

Yet.

But whether I am simply "working from home" or am in "quarantine", I am trapped inside my house instead of being out in the world. We're ordering groceries online, rationing toilet paper, and wiping down our Amazon boxes with oh so precious clorox wipes.

All this shit is surreal.

Before the world shut down, the plan for Trans Day of Visibility was just to recognize the day during morning announcements. Maybe say a blurb. There were no plans for any big hullabaloo. It's not like we were going to put on another assembly so soon after Danielle's presentation. Not that the assembly wasn't a good time. I have no regrets. But, I doubt it will be an annual thing, nevermind a monthly thing.

The other day, Ms. Reid sent me an email and suggested commemorating the day somehow over Zoom. Zoom? I hadn't even heard of Zoom two weeks ago. And with the reports of hackers interrupting meetings, I'm not willing to delve into such a personal topic in such an impersonal way.

Also, I don't trust my children to be quiet in another room.

All I know is that I'm glad that I'm not a classroom teacher during this mess. The only ones thriving right now are the youngsters without children. People with kids living at home are drowning. The veterans are out of their element.

The only silver lining–and I know this makes me an asshole, but it still sent a spark of joy running down my spine when Jessica confided this in me–is that Steve is completely out of his mind and is flustered by his younger colleagues.

There is nothing more humbling than having a 24-year-old colleague who is barely out of college being the one asked to start a folder in the share drive called "Teaching Tech Tips".

And some tips are pretty damn good. Who knew you could make Zoom breakout rooms? Or make a virtual classroom using Bitmoji and Google slides? And Screencastify is going to be a lifesaver for kids who need to listen to directions more than once.

This morning it's my goal to skim through the tech tips already listed and to add some math-specific resources. But it's so hard to get anything done while hiding in the bedroom and sitting on a laptop. I keep getting distracted.

Tiffany is blasting Sam Smith from our Alexa, and she is singing along loudly, with the kids adding their own background vocalizations. The walls are practically humming along too; the volume is so high. I can hear the lyrics leaking in from the crack under the door. Something about dancing with a stranger. Either a break-up song or a cheating song.

Should I be worried? After two weeks trapped in the house together, is she that desperate to get away from me?

"I'm trying to work in here!" I holler. Why would she ever want to get away from me? I'm a very tolerable person to be around.

"Whaaaat?" she screams in response.

"TURN DOWN THE MUSIC!" I shout as loud as I can without moving from the bed.

"I can't hear you. Let me turn down the music–ALEXA, pause–What did you say, Xander?" I hear footsteps and a moment later, the door opens and Tiffany leans in. She's wearing a gray tank top, black leggings, and has her hair pulled back in what looks like a sweatband made of peacock feathers. Although I am sure she would disagree with that description.

My ears ring at the moment of silence that follows. Deep inhale. Repeat. "I'm trying to work in here. Do you think you could lower it a bit?"

She assesses me. Her eyes stopping at the open laptop, one brow raised dubiously. "Are you in a meeting?"

"No, just typing something up." She is such a nosy coworker.

"I thought you liked Sam Smith."

All I listen to is classic and alt rock. I stopped liking new bands in 1999. Was Sam Smith even born in 1999? "Why would I like him?"

"Them," she corrects me.

"Them? Is 'Sam Smith' the name of a band the way Blondie is actually a band and not Debbie Harry's name?" As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize that I'm being dense. Did I read an article about Sam Smith somewhere? But why?

"Sam Smith is nonbinary. You know that." She looks at me, mouth flat as an ironing board. And while her eyes stare straight, I can hear the eye roll in her voice.

"I–" Did I know that? I guess that sounds familiar. That must have been the article that I read. "Yes, sorry, them. But why would I like them?"

Tiffany lets out a huff. I guess that was the wrong question to ask. "I'm trying to clean up after the tornado of our children while you get to escape in here... But sure, I'll turn it down a little."

She closes the door a little more forcefully than necessary and a moment later, the music restarts. Although, as promised, the volume is slightly more tolerable.

Huh. A nonbinary pop star who is actually popular. Mainstream.

That makes being trans seem almost... normal.

Well, as normal as a pop star, anyway.

I'm really not special, am I? I'm really as white-picket-fence, middle-of-the-road, dry-as-toast, khaki-pants-wearing-suburbanite-dad as it gets. And coming out at work has done nothing to change that.

As I continue to scroll through the Tech Tips folder, I'm struck by an idea.

We don't have the infrastructure to do whole-class announcements when we are all teaching and attending classes from our living rooms. And I'm not going to organize some Zoom event to discuss being trans. But we do have ways to disseminate information. Every student has a Google Classroom account, and every teacher has made either Jessica or myself a co-teacher so we can help support remote math instruction. There must be a way that I can somehow use that platform to be visible on this Trans Day of Visibility.

This past year I've learned about trans cartoon characters and nonbinary pop stars. I've seen the bravery of a trans fourth grader. And I've let literally hundreds of students know that their nerdy math coach is also trans.

I go back and look at the Bitmoji virtual classroom slide and decide that this is it. As I decorate the slide with a selection of pre-designed furniture–something that reminds me of my days playing Sims–I feel giddy. I hang a trans flag in one corner of the classroom and populate a clip-art bookshelf with book cover images I will then add links to. I find a cover for George by Alex Gino and then one for Steven Universe.

It takes a while. Time gets away from me. But it looks outstanding when I'm done. The final touch will be a voiceover introducing the slides and directing students to the different links. I think I can record something on my phone and then insert the audio so kids can click on an icon and hear me. This is going to be fucking awesome and I'm psyched.

Tiffany and the kids are still listening to music. "Hey, honey?" I call out. "I need to do something. Do you mind being quiet for about five minutes?"

The music stops.

I pull up the audio app on my phone and hit record. "Today is International Trans Day of Visibility," I begin.

"Fack yoo!" Nora's voice comes screeching through the door.

I hit pause.

"What?" When did she learn to curse?

"Fack yoo!" she screams again.

Tiffany opens the door, holding our Dyson stick vacuum. "Vacuum. She is saying vacuum. If you are on a Zoom with your boss, please let her know, vacuum."

"Fack yoo." Nora repeats, but this time with a laugh bright enough to light up the darkest night.

I have to join in and laugh along. This. This is why I could never host a Zoom meeting from home. Because as normal and boring as I am to the world, every day at home is special beyond belief.