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Melea hates school. She is 4 years old and was adopted at birth by two gay men. Her dads (Mark and Sam) are Caucasian and Melea is African American-Latino.

I distinctly remember watching the very first space shuttle blast off on April 12, 1981. I was 8 years old, and I watched it while eating breakfast before school. Awe-inspiring, everyone talked about it for days. I recall watching the astronauts board the shuttle that morning and wondering, “Where are the women astronauts?”

The first time I met Donnie (not his real name), he was wearing a green dress with gold trim, had shoulder-length hair, and wore glasses frames with no lenses. His hair was matted and he was covered in dirt. His eyes were bloodshot and filled with tears. He would not speak to me for the first 20 minutes. And then, in a flood of emotion, he began to tell me his plight.

New evidence of the bullying crisis in our schools appears daily in news reports and blogs. For some students, verbal harassment, cyber-ostracism and physical abuse are as routine as turning in homework. That’s particularly true for students who are—or simply perceived to be—gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgender (LGBT).

Michael needed help. He was in the dress-up center trying, with little luck, to shimmy a shiny turquoise mermaid dress over his head. Clearly he had no clue what he was doing. But the look on his face told me he really wanted to wear the frock. I walked over and helped.

As part of our bedtime routine, I was excited to share a new book with my 4-year-old daughter. My Princess Boy by Cheryl Kilodavis would be our story for the evening. We began, as always, by reading the title and looking at the illustrations.

Growing up, no one told me that people shouldn’t be gay. My parents didn’t tell me I shouldn’t talk to kids whose parents were lesbian. My neighbors didn’t rant against the horrors of gay rights. Instead, all the people in my life encouraged me to live openly, to take people’s personalities and see the beauty in them, to smile at the adorable young couple clutching each other’s hands, no matter their gender. Love was love. I lived in a world blissfully ignorant about the cruelties of the “real world.”

Sometime in the next week or so, the Senate of the state of Tennessee will probably approve the “Don’t Say Gay” bill. It’s a proposed law that states, “No public elementary or middle school shall provide any instruction or material that discusses sexual orientation other than heterosexuality” in grades K-8.

Scattered across the cinderblocks of our middle school walls are some new faces, photographs of kids who have been silenced. Lee Simpson on Oct. 10, 2008. Scotty Weaver on July 22, 2004. Lawrence King on Feb. 12, 2008. Carl Walker-Hoover on April 9, 2009. All silent. They are dead.

Imani walked down the hall with a paper cup in her hands. She stopped and held up the cup to me. Inside of its paper walls were soil, water, and seeds—all those humble and elemental things that build a third-grader's scientific knowledge. Imani was growing cabbage.