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How does it feel to be called by a name you did not choose for yourself? Over time, people have used a long list of names for the Indigenous Peoples of the Americas, but those words have rarely been what they would call themselves.

The power and meaning of labels comes not only from the choice of words but also from how those words are said. Niin, an Anishinaabe woman of both Cree and Ojibway descent, talked in an interview about the first time in her childhood when someone called her an "Indian."

I'm not sure whether I was in grade one or in grade two; actually I think it was in kindergarten, because my Mom was home at that time. I remember being outside for recess. You know, everyone was running around, playing in the middle of the field. All of a sudden I stopped because I realized that a few of the kids who were in my classroom had formed a circle around me. They were going around and around the circle and I realized I was in the middle of this circle. I was trying to figure out what the heck is going on here? They were saying something and I started listening to them. They were saying "Indian, Indian, Indian." And I was like what? I really didn't understand myself, first and foremost, as an "Indian." Right in the middle of when they were doing that, the bell rang and everybody just turned toward the door and started walking in. I remember looking down on the ground wondering, what are they talking about Indian, Indian, Indian? I don't even know how that circle formed in the first place. I didn't catch it. It just seemed all of a sudden they were all around me and I just stopped, looking at them all. The bell rang right away. I just remember putting my head down, walking, looking at the grass, I was really thinking about, what was that all about? I didn't even remember it by the time we got to the door. Except for when I got home I asked my Mom.

I remember when I went home, my mother was standing at the counter. She was baking something or other but she was working at the counter and I just walked up to her and I was watching what she was doing. I remember my chin barely touched the counter and I was watching her. I said, "Mom, what am I?" And she looked down at me and said really fast, "Were people asking you what you were?" I said, "Yes, they were calling me Indian." She said, "Tell them you're Canadian." I couldn't really figure out why she was sounding so stern and kind of angry. I just thought okay and I turned around but I remember that afternoon really clearly. I think why it stuck in my mind so much is because they were in a circle ridiculing me. And I don't even know. I didn't even take offence because I didn't know what they were doing. Even though they were calling me Indian, I was still going yeah, so what? So it always puzzled me about why, why they were calling me Indian. And because I didn't really feel any different from them, even though I knew my skin was darker, my hair was brown, and I had a shinier face. I really didn't feel any different from them or feel I was different from them.

I just felt we were all just kids. I think that's when I started learning that there were different kinds of people. I knew that there were different kinds of people by just looking and seeing like different looking people but not people who are different from one another.

Las Palabras Importan

¿Qué siente una persona cuando la llaman por un nombre que no eligió para usted? A lo largo del tiempo, las personas han utilizado una amplia lista de nombres para referirse a los pueblos indígenas de las Américas, pero tales palabras casi nunca han sido las que ellos usarían para referirse a sí mismos.

El poder y el significado de las etiquetas no solo proceden de la elección de las palabras, sino también de la forma como se dicen. Niin, una mujer anishinaabe, descendiente de las tribus Cree y Ojibwa, habló en una entrevista sobre la primera vez que alguien la llamó "india" cuando era una niña.

No estoy segura si estaba en primero o en segundo grado; en realidad, creo que estaba en el kínder porque en esa época mi mamá estaba en casa. Recuerdo que estaba afuera en el recreo. Ya saben, todos corrían alrededor, jugando en medio del campo. De repente me detuve porque me di cuenta que algunos de los niños de mi clase habían formado un círculo a mi alrededor; ellos caminaban en círculo y yo estaba en el centro de ese círculo. Trataba de entender lo que estaba pasando. Ellos estaban diciendo algo, así que empecé a escucharlos. Decían: "India, india, india". Pero yo no entendía nada. A decir verdad, yo no me veía a mí misma, en primer lugar, como una "india". Justo en el momento en que hacían eso, sonó la campana y todos se voltearon hacia la puerta y comenzaron a entrar. Recuerdo que miré al piso, preguntándome: ¿A qué se refieren con india, india, india? Para empezar, ni siquiera sé cómo se formó ese círculo. No me di cuenta; de repente todos me rodearon, así que me detuve y los observé. La campana sonó justo en ese instante. Solo recuerdo que agaché la cabeza, caminé y, mirando el césped, me preguntaba: ¿qué había sido todo eso? Ni siquiera recuerdo en qué momento llegamos a la puerta. Solo que al llegar a casa, le pregunté a mi mamá.

Recuerdo cuando regresé a casa, mi madre estaba de pie junto al mesón. Estaba horneando algo, o eso parecía porque estaba haciendo algo en el mesón de la cocina; caminé hacia ella mientras observaba lo que hacía. Recuerdo que mi barbilla apenas llegaba a la altura del mesón y que yo la observaba. Le dije: "Mamá, ¿qué soy?; y ella me miró desde arriba y rápidamente me dijo: "¿La gente te ha estado preguntando qué eres?"; yo le dije: "Sí, me han llamado india". Ella respondió: "Diles que eres canadiense". A decir verdad, no podía entender por qué sonaba tan seria y algo enojada. Pensé que estaba bien y me di vuelta, sin embargo, recuerdo esa tarde claramente. Creo que la razón por la que esto quedó tan grabado en mi mente es porque ellos hicieron un círculo para ridiculizarme. Y yo ni siquiera lo sabía. No me sentía ofendida porque ni siquiera sabía lo que hacían. Aunque me llamaban india, yo pensaba: "Sí, ¿y qué?"; así que siempre me desconcertó la razón por la que me llamaban india. Porque no me sentía diferente a ellos, aunque sabía que mi piel era más oscura, mi cabello marrón y mi rostro más resplandeciente. En realidad, no percibía ninguna diferencia ni me sentía diferente a ellos. Sentía que todos éramos simplemente niños. Creo que, en ese momento, empecé a aprender que existían diferentes tipos de personas. Sabía que había diferentes tipos de personas al mirarlas y percibirlas como personas de aspecto diferente; mas no como personas que son diferentes entre sí.

1. What do you think the word Indian meant to the kids in Niin's class? What factors might have shaped her classmates' understanding of the word?

2. Why do you think Niin's mother told Niin she was Canadian? What did she want Niin to understand about herself?

3. Considering the rest of the story, what might Niin's mother have wanted Niin's classmates to learn?

4. Do you have a memory of becoming aware of differences? If so, what was it?

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How does it feel to be called by a name you did not choose for yourself? Over time, people have used a long list of names for the Indigenous Peoples of the Americas, but those words have rarely been what they would call themselves.

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In the reading The "In" Group, Eve Shalen says, "Often being accepted by others is more satisfying than being accepted by oneself, even though the satisfaction does not last." In the following passage, Cameron Tuttle explains how her need for acceptance shaped her experience when she was in high school and came to understand that she was gay.

No one bullied me in high school because absolutely no one knew I was gay. Definitely not me. It took me years to figure that out.

I was one of those squeaky clean, annoyingly mainstream, overachiever types. I got good grades, did student government, sang in musicals, played team sports, and joined lots of clubs to fatten up my college applications. But even though I was popular and friends with lots of different people, I felt alone, really alone, like no one knew the real me.

How could they? I was trying so hard to be perfect.

On the outside, I was a thriving, active, make-my-family-proud, successful teenager. But on the inside, I was emotionally numb, comatose, flat-lining. My mom had died of breast cancer two weeks before the beginning of ninth grade. She was an amazing mom, loving and supportive, and she gave me enough freedom to explore who I was so I could succeed or fail with my own personal style. After she died, I was devastated. But I was determined to prove to the world and to myself that I was okay.

I found myself working really, really hard to be the best because I was scared. Scared of being different. Scared of being defective. Scared of feeling my feelings. So for years, I didn't let myself feel.

I got a lot done in high school but I didn't have a lot of fun. And even though I wasn't ever bullied by other people, I was relentlessly bullied by my own thoughts and fears about who I was, how I was supposed to behave, and what would happen if I didn't.

I actually had this pathetic idea that I would somehow let down my community-people I barely knew in the conservative, snooty neighborhood where I grew up-if I ended up being a lesbian. How ridiculous is that?

Bullying isn't just what real people in real time say to you or try to do to you. Bullying is everywhere-it's in the words of fearful, judgmental parents who are trying to control you. (BTW: it's also in the words of well-meaning but misguided parents who are trying "to protect you from being hurt.") Bullying is in the news and in government policy. It's in the imagery of pop culture. It's in religion. And as a result, it gets into your head.

How did it get better for me? Slowly. It helped that I went to college across the country, as far away as I possibly could go from my hometown without needing a passport.

I eventually found the guts to stand up to my inner bully, the judgmental, fearful, bossy voice in my head that kept telling me, You can't . . . You shouldn't . . . Don't you dare! And then I finally found the confidence to listen to my body and to my heart and to be honest with myself.

And then I moved to New York.

When I was living there, I met tons of people who were a lot like me-squeaky-clean, annoyingly mainstream overachievers who just happened to be gay: former high-school cheerleaders, homecoming kings, class officers, student leaders, star athletes. And I realized . . . yeah, I can do this. Yeah, I can be this. And now, I love being different-in my squeaky-clean, annoyingly mainstream way.

En Busca de la Confianza

En el siguiente fragmento, Cameron Tuttle explica de qué manera su necesidad de aceptación moldeó su experiencia cuando cursaba la secundaria y terminó por comprender que era homosexual.

No me acosaron en la secundaria porque nadie en absoluto sabía que yo era homosexual. Ni siquiera yo lo sabía. Tardé años en descubrirlo. Yo era una de esas personas súper impecables y extremadamente populares y sobresalientes. Obtenía buenas calificaciones, participaba en el gobierno estudiantil, cantaba en los musicales, jugaba deportes de equipo y me vinculaba a muchos clubes, con el fin de que mis solicitudes de admisión a la universidad fueran llamativas. Sin embargo, aunque era popular y amiga de muchas personas diferentes, me sentía sola, muy sola, como si nadie conociera a la persona que yo era en realidad.

¿Cómo era esto posible? Me esforzaba tanto por ser perfecta.

Por fuera, era una adolescente exitosa, activa y un orgullo para mi familia. Pero, por dentro, estaba emocionalmente bloqueada, letárgica y estancada. Mi mamá había muerto de cáncer de mama dos semanas antes del inicio del noveno grado. Ella era una mamá increíble, amorosa y comprensiva, y me dio suficiente libertad para explorar lo que yo era a fin de poder triunfar o fracasar a mi propio estilo. Su muerte me dejó destrozada, pero estaba decidida a demostrarle al mundo y a mí misma que yo estaba bien.

Terminé esforzándome mucho para ser la mejor porque tenía miedo. Miedo de ser diferente. Miedo de ser imperfecta. Miedo de vivir mis sentimientos. Así que, durante años, no me permití sentir.

Hice muchas cosas en la secundaria, pero no me divertí mucho. Y, aunque nunca fui acosada por los demás, sí me dejaba acosar despiadadamente por mis propios pensamientos y miedos sobre quién era yo, cómo debía comportarme y qué pasaría si no lo hacía.

De hecho, tenía la patética idea de que defraudaría de algún modo a mi comunidad, -personas que a duras penas conocía en el vecindario conservador y prepotente en el que había crecido- si terminaba siendo lesbiana. ¿Qué tan ridículo puede ser eso?

El acoso no es solo lo que la gente te dice o trata de hacerte directamente. El acoso está en todas partes; está en las palabras de los padres temerosos y prejuiciosos que tratan de controlarte. (Por cierto, también en las palabras de los padres bien intencionados, pero que se equivocan al tratar "de evitar que salgas lastimado"). El acoso está en los medios de comunicación y en las políticas gubernamentales. Está en el imaginario de la cultura popular. Está en la religión. Y, por ese motivo, se mete en tu cabeza.

¿Cómo logré superarlo? Lo superé lentamente; fue de gran ayuda el hecho de haber ingresado a una universidad al otro lado del país, tan lejos de mi ciudad como me fuera posible, pero en la que no necesitaba usar un pasaporte.

Con el tiempo encontré la fuerza para enfrentar mi acoso interior, la voz temerosa, prejuiciosa y autoritaria en mi cabeza que me decía constantemente: ¡No puedes... No debes... Ni te atrevas! Y finalmente, recuperé la confianza para escuchar mi cuerpo y mi corazón y ser honesta conmigo misma.

Y entonces me mudé a Nueva York.

Cuando vivía allá, conocí a muchísimas personas que eran como yo, súper impecables y extremadamente populares y sobresalientes que, por casualidad, eran homosexuales: antiguas porristas de secundaria, anfitriones de los bailes de bienvenida, representantes de curso, líderes estudiantiles, atletas reconocidos. Y me di cuenta de que... sí podía hacerlo. Y de que sí podía serlo. Y ahora, me encanta ser diferente, a mi manera, súper impecable, extremadamente popular y sobresaliente.

1. How do you define "bullying"? How does Cameron Tuttle's story add to your thinking?

2. Create an identity chart for Tuttle. How might the identity chart you made for her be different from the one she would make for herself? What might be some differences between the way others see her and the way she sees herself?

3. What did it mean for Tuttle to find her own voice?

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In the reading The "In" Group, Eve Shalen says, "Often being accepted by others is more satisfying than being accepted by oneself, even though the satisfaction does not last." In the following passage, Cameron Tuttle explains how her need for acceptance shaped her experience when she was in high school and came to understand that she was gay.

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How much of our identities can we define for ourselves, and how much is determined by other influences, such as our families, our culture, and the circumstances of our lives? Writer Julius Lester defied other people's expectations on his journey toward understanding and defining his identity. Here, he reflects on the way violence and humiliation affected his childhood:

I grew up in the forties and fifties in Kansas City, Kansas, and Nashville, Tennessee, with summers spent in Arkansas. The forties and fifties were not pleasant times for blacks and I am offended by white people who get nostalgic for the fifties. I have no nostalgia for segregation, for the "No Colored Allowed" signs covering the landscape like litter on the smooth, green grass of a park, I have no nostalgia for a time when I endangered my life if, while downtown shopping with my parents, I raised my eyes and accidentally met the eyes of a white woman. Black men and boys were lynched for this during my childhood and adolescence.

Lester describes the way he survived those years as follows:

I grew up in a violent world. Segregation was a deathly spiritual violence, not only in its many restrictions on where we could live, eat, go to school, and go after dark. There was also the constant threat of physical death if you looked at a white man in what he considered the wrong way or if he didn't like your attitude. There was also the physical violence of my community . . . What I have realized is that on those nights I lay in bed reading westerns and detective novels, I was attempting to neutralize and withstand the violence that was so much a part of my dailiness. In westerns and mysteries I found a kind of mirror in which one element of my world-violence-was isolated and made less harmful to me.

Not surprisingly, Lester found his voice in a book. He explains:

One of the pivotal experiences of my life came when I was eighteen. I wandered into a bookstore in downtown Nashville one frosted, gray day in late autumn aware that I was looking for something: I was looking for myself, and I generally find myself while wandering through a bookstore, looking at books until I find the one that is calling me. On this particular day I wandered for quite a while until I picked up a paperback with the word Haiku on the cover. What is that? I wondered. I opened the book and read,

On a withered branch

a crow has settled -

autumn nightfall.

I trembled and turned the pages hastily until my eyes stopped on these words:

A giant firefly;

that way, this way, that way, this -

and it passes by.

I read more of the brief poems, these voices from seventeenth-century Japan, and I knew: This is my voice. This simplicity, this directness, this way of using words to direct the soul to silence and beyond. This is my voice! I exulted inside. Then I stopped. How could I, a little colored kid from Nashville, Tennessee-and that is all I knew myself to be in those days like perpetual death knells-how could I be feeling that something written in seventeenth-century Japan could be my voice?

I almost put the book back, but that inner prompting which had led me to it would not allow such an act of self-betrayal. I bought the book and began writing haiku, and the study of haiku led to the study of Zen Buddhism, which led to the study of flower arranging, and I suspect I am still following the path that opened to me on that day when I was eighteen, though I no longer write haiku.

I eventually understood that it made perfect sense for a little colored kid from Nashville, Tennessee, to recognize his voice in seventeenth-century Japanese poetry. Who we are by the sociological and political definitions of society has little to do with who we are.

In the quiet and stillness that surrounds us when we read a book, we are known to ourselves in ways we are not when we are with people. We enter a relationship of intimacy with the writer, and if the writer has written truly and if we give ourselves over to what is written, we are given the gift of ourselves in ways that surprise and catch the soul off guard.

En Busca de una Voz Propia

¿Hasta qué punto podemos definir nuestra propia identidad y hasta qué punto está determinada por otras influencias como las de nuestras familias, nuestra cultura y las circunstancias de nuestras vidas? El escritor Julius Lester desafió las expectativas de otras personas en su travesía hacia el entendimiento y la definición de su identidad. Aquí, él reflexiona sobre la manera en que la violencia y la humillación afectaron su infancia:

Crecí entre la década de los cuarenta y los cincuenta en Kansas City, Kansas, y Nashville, Tennessee, y solía pasar el verano en Arkansas. Las décadas de los cuarenta y los cincuenta no fueron épocas agradables para los negros, y me siento ofendido por las personas blancas que sienten nostalgia por la década de los cincuenta. No siento nostalgia por la segregación, ni por los letreros de "No se permiten personas de color" que ocultaban el paisaje como la hojarasca ocultaba al césped verde y suave del parque; no siento nostalgia por la época en la que arriesgaba mi vida si, al ir de compras con mis padres, levantaba la mirada y accidentalmente me encontraba con la mirada de una mujer blanca. Durante mi infancia y adolescencia, a los hombres y niños negros los linchaban por este motivo.

A continuación, Lester describe la manera en que sobrevivió a aquellos años:

Crecí en un mundo violento. La segregación era una violencia espiritual mortal, no solo por la cantidad de restricciones sobre dónde podíamos vivir, comer, ir a estudiar y salir en la noche, sino que también había una amenaza constante de muerte física si usted miraba a un hombre blanco de una manera que este considerara equivocada o si a él no le gustaba su actitud. También existía la violencia física de mi comunidad. Lo que he comprobado es que en esas noches en que me quedaba en la cama leyendo novelas de vaqueros y de detectives, yo intentaba neutralizar y resistir la violencia que era una buena parte de mi cotidianidad. En las novelas de vaqueros y de misterio encontraba una especie de espejo en el cual podía aislar un elemento de mi mundo, la violencia, y hacerlo menos perjudicial para mí.

No es de extrañar que Lester encontrara su voz en un libro. Él explica:

A los dieciocho años, viví una de las experiencias cruciales de mi vida. Caminaba distraído por una librería en el centro de Nashville, un día gris y helado a finales del otoño, consciente de que andaba en busca de algo: me buscaba a mí mismo y, generalmente, me encuentro a mí mismo mientras camino por una librería observando libros hasta que encuentro el libro que me llama la atención. Ese día en particular, caminé por un buen rato hasta tomar un libro de pasta blanda con la palabra Haiku en la cubierta. ¿Qué es eso?, me pregunté. Abrí el libro y leí:

Sobre la rama seca
un cuervo se ha posado;
tarde de otoño.

Yo temblaba y pasaba las páginas apresuradamente hasta que mis ojos se detuvieron en estas palabras:

Una luciérnaga gigante;
por allá, por aquí, por allá, por...
y pasó de largo.

Leí algo más de los cortos poemas, estas voces del Japón del siglo XVII, y lo supe: esta es mi voz. Esta simplicidad, esta claridad, esta manera de usar las palabras para conducir el alma al silencio y más allá. ¡Esta es mi voz! Me regocijé por dentro. Luego me detuve. ¿Cómo podía yo, un niño pequeño de color de Nashville, Tennessee -y es todo lo que sabía sobre mí mismo por esos días, como una sentencia de muerte perpetua- cómo podía yo sentir que algo escrito en el Japón del siglo XVII fuera mi voz?

Estuve a punto de regresar el libro a su lugar, pero ese impulso interior que me llevó a él no permitiría tal acto de traición propia. Compré el libro y comencé a escribir haiku, y el estudio del haiku me llevó al estudio del budismo zen, que a su vez me llevó al estudio del arreglo floral, y sospecho que he seguido por ese camino que se me abrió ese día, a mis dieciocho años, aunque ya no escribo haiku.

Con el tiempo entendí que tenía todo el sentido para un pequeño niño de color de Nashville, Tennessee, reconocer su voz en la poesía japonesa del siglo XVII. Lo que somos de acuerdo con las definiciones políticas y sociológicas de la sociedad tiene poco que ver con quiénes somos en realidad.

En la tranquilidad y la quietud que nos rodea cuando leemos un libro, nos conocemos a nosotros mismos como no lo hacemos cuando estamos con otras personas. Establecemos una relación íntima con el escritor y, si el escritor ha escrito con sinceridad y si nos entregamos a lo que está escrito, recibimos el regalo de conocernos a nosotros mismos, de maneras sorprendentes que encuentran desprevenida a nuestra alma.

1. What barriers did society place in the way of Julius Lester's becoming the kind of person he wanted to be? How did he overcome these barriers?

2. When Lester found a book of haiku in the bookstore, why did he almost put it back?

3. Lester writes that when he found the book of haiku, "I knew: This is my voice." Have you ever found your voice in a work of art, music, literature, or film?

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How much of our identities can we define for ourselves, and how much is determined by other influences, such as our families, our culture, and the circumstances of our lives? Writer Julius Lester defied other people's expectations on his journey toward understanding and defining his identity.

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Sometimes our assumptions and expectations about others prevent us from seeing who they really are as individuals. Some of the most powerful expectations about people that we learn from our culture are about gender. A person's sex often leads us to make assumptions about that person's identity. Martha Minow, a legal scholar, explains:

Of course, there are "real differences" in the world; each person differs in countless ways from each other person. But when we simplify and sort, we focus on some traits rather than others, and we assign consequences to the presence and absence of the traits we make significant. We ask, "What's the new baby?"-and we expect as an answer, boy or girl. That answer, for most of history, has spelled consequences for the roles and opportunities available to that individual.

American author Lori Duron and her husband, Matt, have two children, both boys. She writes about what happened the first time her younger son, C.J., got a Barbie doll:

For days after C.J. discovered her, Barbie never left his side. When I'd do a final bed check at night before I retired for the evening to watch reality television and sneak chocolate when no one was looking, I'd see his full head of auburn hair sticking out above his covers. Next to him there would be a tiny tuft of blonde hair sticking out as well.

The next time we were at Target near the toy aisle-which I've always tried to pass at warp speed so the kids don't notice and beg me to buy them something-C.J. wanted to see "Barbie stuff." I led him to the appropriate aisle and he stood there transfixed, not touching a thing, just taking it all in. He was so overwhelmed that he didn't ask to buy a single thing. He finally walked away from the aisle speechless, as if he had just seen something so magical and majestic that he needed time to process it.

He had, that day, discovered the pink aisles of the toy department. We had never been down those aisles; we had only frequented the blue aisles, when we ventured down the toy aisles at all. As far as C.J. was concerned, I had been hiding half the world from him.

I felt bad about that, like I had deprived him because of my assumptions and expectations that he was a boy and boys liked boy things. Matt and I noticed that C.J. didn't really like any of the toys we provided for him, which were all handed down from his brother. We noticed that C.J. didn't go through the normal boy toy addictions that Chase [C.J.'s older brother] had gone through: he couldn't care less about balls, cars, dinosaurs, superheroes, The Wiggles, Bob the Builder, or Thomas the Tank Engine. What did he like to play with? We didn't worry ourselves much about finding the answer (a case of the second-born child not getting fussed over quite like the first-born); we trusted that in time something would draw him in. Which it did. It just wasn't at all what we were expecting.

At about the eighteen- to twenty-four-month mark of a child's life, the gender-neutral toys disappear and toys that are marketed specifically to boys or to girls take over. We didn't realize it until later, but that divide in the toy world and our house being filled with only boy toys left C.J. a little lost at playtime. We and the rest of society had been pushing masculine stuff on him and enforcing traditional gender norms, when all he wanted was to brush long blonde hair and dress, undress, and re-dress Barbie. . .

Reflecting on C.J.'s identity, Duron concludes:

On the gender-variation spectrum of super-macho-masculine on the left all the way to super-girly-feminine on the right, C.J. slides fluidly in the middle; he's neither all pink nor all blue. He's a muddled mess or a rainbow creation, depending on how you look at it. Matt and I have decided to see the rainbow, not the muddle. But we didn't always see it that way.

Initially, the sight of our son playing with girl toys or wearing girl clothes made our chests tighten, forged a lump in our throats, and, at times, made us want to hide him. There was anger, anxiety, and fear. We've evolved as parents as our younger son has evolved into a fascinating, vibrant person who is creative with gender. Sometimes, when I think of how we behaved as parents . . . I'm ashamed and embarrassed.

Género e Identidad

A veces, nuestras suposiciones y expectativas sobre los demás nos impiden ver quiénes son realmente como personas. Algunas de las expectativas más poderosas sobre las personas, adquiridas de nuestra cultura, tienen que ver con el género. El sexo de una persona generalmente nos lleva a hacer suposiciones acerca de su identidad. La experta en derecho, Martha Minow, explica:

Por supuesto, existen "diferencias reales" en el mundo, cada persona difiere de las demás de formas innumerables. Sin embargo, cuando simplificamos y seleccionamos, nos enfocamos en unos rasgos más que en otros y asignamos consecuencias a la presencia y carencia de los rasgos a los que damos importancia. Preguntamos: "¿cuál es el sexo del bebé?" y, esperamos como respuesta, niño o niña. Tal respuesta, durante la mayor parte de la historia, ha determinado consecuencias en cuanto a los papeles y a las oportunidades disponibles para dicha persona.

Lori Duron, autora estadounidense, y su esposo, Matt, tienen dos hijos, ambos varones. Ella escribe lo que ocurrió la primera vez que su hijo más pequeño, C. J., tuvo una muñeca Barbie.

Luego de que C. J. descubrió la Barbie, esta nunca se apartó de su lado. Cuando hacía la última inspección nocturna, antes de terminar la noche mirando los reality en la televisión y comiendo chocolate a escondidas, yo podía ver toda su cabeza y su cabello de color castaño rojizo que sobresalía por encima de sus cobijas. A su lado, también se asomaba un pequeño mechón de cabello rubio.

En la siguiente visita a la sección de juguetes del Target -que yo siempre trataba de cruzar a la velocidad de un rayo para que los niños no se dieran cuenta y empezaran a suplicarme que les comprara algo- C. J. quería ver "cosas de la Barbie". Lo llevé al pasillo correspondiente y se quedó ahí paralizado, sin tocar nada, solo contemplaba todo. Estaba tan sorprendido que no pidió que le comprara nada. Finalmente, se fue del pasillo sin palabras, como si hubiera visto algo tan mágico y majestuoso que necesitaba tiempo para asimilarlo.

Ese día, él había descubierto los pasillos de color rosa en la sección de juguetes. Nunca habíamos estado en esos pasillos; solo frecuentábamos los pasillos azules si es que llegábamos a la sección de juguetes. En lo que le concernía a C. J., yo le había estado ocultando la mitad del mundo.

Eso me hizo sentir mal; sentía que lo había privado a causa de mis suposiciones y expectativas basadas en que era un niño varón y que a los niños varones les gustan las cosas de niños varones. Matt y yo notamos que a C. J. no le gustaba ninguno de los juguetes que le ofrecíamos; todos heredados de su hermano. Notamos que C. J. no pasó por las obsesiones normales de los niños por los juguetes que Chase, [su hermano mayor], había experimentado: poco le importaban las pelotas, los automóviles, los dinosaurios, los superhéroes, The Wiggles, Bob el Constructor o Thomas y sus Amigos. ¿Con qué le gustaba jugar? No nos preocupamos por encontrar la respuesta (por aquello de que el segundo hijo nunca recibe tanta atención como el primero); creíamos que con el tiempo algo atraería su atención. Y así fue, pero no fue de ninguna manera lo que nosotros esperábamos.

Entre los dieciocho y veinticuatro meses de vida de un niño, la neutralidad de género desaparece en los juguetes y comienzan a dominar los juguetes que se comercializan específicamente para los niños o las niñas. No nos dimos cuenta de esto sino hasta más tarde, pero esa división entre el mundo de los juguetes y nuestra casa llena de juguetes solo para niños varones, dejó a C. J. un poco perdido a la hora del juego. Nosotros, así como el resto de la sociedad, hemos estado tratando de imponerle cosas masculinas y de reforzar normas tradicionales de género, cuando todo lo que él quería era peinar un largo cabello rubio, y vestir, desvestir y volver a vestir a una Barbie...

En su reflexión sobre la identidad de C. J., Duron concluye:

En el espectro de la variación de género, del supermacho masculino en el lado izquierdo hasta la niña superfemenina en el extremo derecho, C. J. se desliza fluidamente en el centro; él no es del todo rosa ni del todo azul. Él es un confuso desorden o una creación multicolor, según como se le mire. Matt y yo hemos decidido ver el lado multicolor y no la confusión, pero no siempre lo vimos así.

Al comienzo, la idea de ver a nuestro hijo jugar con cosas de niña o vestir ropa de niña nos oprimía el pecho, nos dejaba un nudo en la garganta y, en ocasiones, queríamos ocultarlo. Sentíamos rabia, ansiedad y miedo. Hemos evolucionado como padres a medida que nuestro hijo menor se ha ido convirtiendo en una persona brillante y fascinante, creativa con el género. A veces, cuando pienso en la manera como nos comportamos como padres... me siento culpable y avergonzada.

1. What are the differences between the toys in the pink aisle and the toys in the blue aisle? What assumptions do the toys in those aisles reflect about what it means to be a boy or a girl?

2. How do you explain the anxiety, anger, and fear Duron felt when C.J. started playing with "girl toys"? How did her feelings change?

3. What are some other stereotypes about gender in your world? How do you respond to the assumptions people make about you because of your gender? To what extent do you accept or reject those assumptions?

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Sometimes our assumptions and expectations about others prevent us from seeing who they really are as individuals. Some of the most powerful expectations about people that we learn from our culture are about gender. A person's sex often leads us to make assumptions about that person's identity.

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Dear students,

Welcome. You are about to begin a unit titled Teaching Holocaust and Human Behavior that was created by our organization, Facing History and Ourselves. You are joining a community of tens of thousands of students from around the world who have explored the same questions you are about to explore-questions such as: Who am I? What shapes my identity? Why do people form groups? What does it mean to belong? What happens when people are excluded from membership?

After taking part in a unit similar to the one you are about to study, one student said, "I've had 13 math classes, 20 English classes, 6 or 7 science classes, art, P.E., Spanish . . . but in all the time I've been in school, I've had only one class about being more human." In the next few weeks, you will be learning a lot about the choices made by people living in Germany before and during the Holocaust, a tragic event in which millions of children, women, and men were murdered. At the same time, you will also be learning about yourselves and the world around you. That is what we mean by "Facing History and Ourselves." As another former Facing History student explained, "When I took the Facing History course back in eighth grade, it helped me understand that history was a part of me and that I was a part of history. If I understood why people made the choices they did, I could better understand how I make choices and hopefully make the right ones."

This unit may be different from others you have experienced. In this unit, you will be asked to share your own ideas and questions, in discussions and through writing in a journal. You will be asked to listen carefully to the voices of others-the voices of people in your classroom community as well as the voices of people in the history you are studying. In this unit, you may hear things that spark powerful emotions, such as anger or sadness. You will be asked to use both your head and your heart to make sense of the choices people have made in the past and the choices people continue to make today.

At Facing History, we like to think of a unit as a journey. When taking this journey, you need to bring your journal, your curiosity, an open mind, and a willingness to share. As you embark on and continue this journey with the students and adults in your classroom, it is important for you to support each other so that everyone can do their best learning. We wish you a meaningful journey during which you learn about the past and the present, about yourself and about others. You may even find that you have changed as a result of this experience.

Thank you for participating in this journey with us.

Facing History and Ourselves

Carta a los estudiantes

Estimados estudiantes:

Bienvenidos. Están a punto de comenzar una unidad llamada Enseñanza del Holocausto y el Comportamiento Humano, la cual fue creada por nuestra organización, Facing History and Ourselves. Se unirán a una comunidad de decenas de miles de estudiantes de todo el mundo que han analizado las mismas preguntas que ustedes están a punto de analizar; por ejemplo: ¿Quién soy? ¿Qué moldea a mi identidad? ¿Por qué las personas conforman grupos? ¿Qué significa pertenecer? ¿Qué ocurre cuando se excluyen a las personas de la pertenencia?

Luego de participar en una unidad similar a la que ustedes están a punto de estudiar, un estudiante dijo: "He tenido 13 clases de matemáticas, 20 clases de inglés, 6 o 7 clases de ciencias, artes, educación física y español... pero en todo el tiempo que he estado en la escuela , solo he tenido una clase sobre lo que significa ser más humano". En las próximas semanas, aprenderán mucho sobre las decisiones que tomaron las personas que vivían en Alemania, antes y durante el Holocausto, un trágico acontecimiento en el que millones de niños, mujeres y hombres fueron asesinados. A la vez, aprenderán sobre ustedes mismos y sobre el mundo que los rodea. Eso es lo que queremos decir con "Facing History and Ourselves". Otro antiguo estudiante de Facing History indicó: "Cuando tomé el curso de Facing History pude entender que la historia era parte de mí y que yo era parte de la historia. Si entendía por qué las personas tomaron sus decisiones, podría entender mejor cómo las tomo yo y, con suerte, tomaría las decisiones correctas".

Esta unidad puede ser diferente de otras que hayan conocido. En esta unidad, se les pedirá que compartan sus propias ideas y preguntas, en discusiones y mediante el uso de un diario. Se les pedirá que escuchen atentamente las voces de los demás: las voces de las personas de la comunidad del aula de clase, así como las voces de las personas de la historia que están estudiando. En esta unidad, es posible que escuchen cosas que susciten emociones fuertes como la rabia o la tristeza. Se les pedirá que usen su cabeza y su corazón para encontrarle sentido a las decisiones que las personas tomaron en el pasado y las decisiones que las personas siguen tomando hoy en día.

En Facing History, nos gusta concebir cada unidad como una travesía. Al emprender esta travesía, ustedes deben traer su diario, su curiosidad, una mente abierta y la voluntad de compartir. Al emprender y continuar esta travesía con los estudiantes y adultos en su aula de clase, es importante el apoyo mutuo para que cada uno conciba su mejor aprendizaje. Les deseamos una travesía constructiva, en donde aprendan sobre el pasado y el presente, sobre ustedes mismos y sobre los demás. Podrán incluso llegar a pensar que han cambiado, a raíz de esta experiencia.

Gracias por participar en esta travesía con nosotros.

Facing History and Ourselves

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Dear students, Welcome. You are about to begin a unit titled Teaching Holocaust and Human Behavior that was created by our organization, Facing History and Ourselves. You are joining a community of tens of thousands of students from around the world who have explored the same questions you are about to explore-questions such as: Who am I?

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Judaism, a religious faith that began in the Middle East over 3,500 years ago, is the world's oldest monotheistic religion. Today, more than 14 million Jews live in dozens of countries around the world, the majority in Israel and the United States. (In the United States, there were about 7 million Jews, comprising about 2% of the population, in 2016.)

There are several branches within Judaism-including but not limited to Reform, Orthodox, and Conservative-in the United States and elsewhere. According to scholar Stephen Prothero, "The simplest way to describe these three groups [Reform, Orthodox, and Conservative] is to say that each focuses on one key element in Judaism: the Reform on ethics, the Orthodox on law, and the Conservative on tradition." But these simple descriptions do not fully express the richness of the various branches of Judaism or the ideas and beliefs that unite them. A Jewish house of worship is called a synagogue, and the most important religious text in Judaism is the Torah. The Torah includes five books that also appear as the first five books in the Christian Old Testament.

Like the members of any religion or culture, Jews think about and express their identities in a variety of ways, prioritizing their Jewish identity differently within the mix of other factors that make them who they are. In the following three reflections, Rebecca, then age 17, Sara, then age 18, and Angela, an adult, explain the influence that Judaism has on their lives. These are only three examples from the numerous ways that Jews around the world relate to the faith and culture of Judaism. Rebecca writes:

[I]n the Torah, there are 613 commandments. They involve everything from how you treat other people, to Jewish holidays and how we observe them, and the Sabbath, which is every week, and how we observe that. It's like a guide how to live.

There are also a lot of dietary laws. The dietary laws say we can only eat certain kinds of meat that are killed and prepared in a certain way. We can't eat meat at nonkosher restaurants. My parents like to remind me of this funny story. One time when I was two, we were driving past a Burger King. I saw the sign, and I yelled out, "That sign says Burger King. No burgers for Jewish people." I picked up on those observances. It was always something that was part of me. I recognized that it was important.

We set the Sabbath aside as a day of rest because God rested on the seventh day after creating the world. Because of this, there are lots of rules for things you can and can't do . . . It's supposed to be a day of rest-you're not supposed to do any type of work, or watch television, use the computer, use electricity, any of that stuff . . . For me it's very spiritual. It really separates the day out from the rest of the week.

I spend a lot of time with my family-from Friday night at sundown until Saturday night. I go to prayers at my synagogue in the morning and sometimes in the afternoon. It's just a really spiritual experience. It makes it more of an important day . . .

I haven't gone to see a movie on a Saturday or Friday night ever.

It's weird being in a public high school because you're faced with being in a school where there's lots of activities on Friday nights and things to miss out on. Like all the school plays are on Friday nights. I have to give up trying out for school plays. And sports-I used to play softball. But there are games every Saturday, so I couldn't play those.

A lot of people look at it like, "How can you give up all of this stuff because of your religion?" It's just a matter of how you look at it. You can look at it as being a burden-that you have these religious obligations, so you're not able to do your school activities. But I look at it as a more positive experience. It's something that I choose to do.

Sara, age 18, feels differently about the rituals and worship practices of Judaism:

I feel really connected with my Jewish community, but a little less connected to the observance factor of my religion. I don't keep kosher. I don't really feel that that's necessary. When I was little, my whole family would sit down every Friday night and light the Shabbat candles and say the blessings. We don't do that anymore. Now it's like, "It's Friday night. I'm going to go out with my friends."

I don't like organized prayer. Every once in a while I go to services, but I appreciate it a lot more when I do my own thing and say my own prayers . . .

When I was younger, I never really thought I was different 'cause I was Jewish. It didn't occur to me until high school when I started getting really involved with stuff. It's kind of weird when I really think about it. It's like I'm just like everyone else, except there's that little part of me that's going to be Jewish forever, and that makes me different.

Born in Seoul, Korea, to a Korean Buddhist mother and an American Jewish father, Angela explains how she grew to understand herself within the diversity of Jewish life around the world and throughout history:

Growing up, I knew my family was atypical, yet we were made to feel quite at home in our synagogue and community . . .

As a child, I believed that my sister and I were the "only ones" in the Jewish community-the only ones with Asian faces, the only ones whose family trees didn't have roots in Eastern Europe, the only ones with kimchee on the seder plate. But as I grew older, I began to see myself reflected in the Jewish community. I was the only multiracial Jew at my Jewish summer camp in 1985; when I was a song-leader there a decade later, there were a dozen. I have met hundreds of people in multiracial Jewish families in the Northeast through the Multiracial Jewish Network. Social scientist Gary Tobin numbers interracial Jewish families in the hundreds of thousands in North America.

As I learned more about Jewish history and culture, I found it very powerful to learn that being of mixed race in the Jewish community was not just a modern phenomenon. We were a mixed multitude when we left Egypt and entered Israel, and the Hebrews continued to acquire different cultures and races throughout our Diaspora history. Walking through the streets of modern-day Israel, one sees the multicolored faces of Ethiopian, Russian, Yemenite, Iraqi, Moroccan, Polish, and countless other races of Jews-many facial particularities, but all Jewish . . .

What does it mean to be a "normal" Jewish family today? As we learn each other's stories we hear the challenges and joys of reconciling our sometimes competing identities of being Jewish while also feminist, Arab, gay, African-American, or Korean. We were a mixed multitude in ancient times, and we still are . . .

1. Create identity Charts for Rebecca, Sara, and Angela in your journal. Use evidence from the text to support your ideas about each young woman's identity. What do they have common? What differences do you notice?

2. What role does religious belief and practice seem to play in the identities of Rebecca, Sara, and Angela?

3. How do the information and reflections in this reading connect to, extend, or challenge your understanding of what it means to be Jewish? What new questions does this reading raise for you?

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Judaism, a religious faith that began in the Middle East over 3,500 years ago, is the world's oldest monotheistic religion. Today, more than 14 million Jews live in dozens of countries around the world, the majority in Israel and the United States.

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Reading

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No two people are exactly alike. Each of us is an individual with unique talents, interests, and values. Often, others do not recognize what is so distinct about us and instead attach labels to us that may differ from those we would choose for ourselves. Sometimes the labels others attach to us influence the way we think about our own identity. In the book The Bear That Wasn't, author Frank Tashlin uses words and pictures to describe that process.

Once upon a time, in fact it was on a Tuesday, the Bear stood at the edge of a great forest and gazed up at the sky. Away up high, he saw a flock of geese flying south...

He knew when the geese flew south and the leaves fell from the trees, that winter would soon be here and snow would cover the forest. It was time to go into a cave and hibernate.

And that was just what he did.

Not long afterward, in fact it was on a Wednesday, men came...lots of men with steamshovels and saws and tractors and axes...

They worked, and worked, and worked, and finally they built a great, big, huge, factory, right OVER the TOP of the sleeping Bear's cave.

The factory operated all through the cold winter.

And then it was SPRING again.

Deep down under one of the factory buildings the Bear awoke. He blinked his eyes and yawned...

He walked up the stairs to the entrance and stepped out into the bright spring sunshine. His eyes were only half opened, as he was still very sleepy.

His eyes didn't stay half opened long. They suddenly POPPED wide apart. He looked straight ahead. Where was the forest? Where was the grass? Where were the trees? Where were the flowers?

WHAT HAD HAPPENED?

Where was he? Things looked so strange. He didn't know where he was...

Just then a man came out of a door.

"Hey, you get back to work," the man said. "I'm the Foreman and I'll report you for not working."

The Bear said, "I don't work here. I'm a Bear."

The Foreman laughed very loud. "That's a fine excuse for a man to keep from doing any work. Saying he's a bear."

The Bear said, "But, I am a Bear."

The Foreman stopped laughing. He was very mad.

"Don't try to fool me," he said. "You're not a Bear. You're a silly man who needs a shave and wears a fur coat. I'm going to take you to the General Manager."

The General Manager was mad, too. He said, "You're not a Bear. You're a silly man who needs a shave and wears a fur coat. I'm going to take you to the Third Vice President."

The Bear said, "I'm sorry to hear you say that . . . You see, I am a Bear."

The Second Vice President was more than mad or madder. He was furious...

The Bear pleaded, "This is a dreadful error, you know, because ever since I can remember, I've always been a Bear."

"Listen," the Bear told the President. "I don't work here. I'm a Bear, and please don't say I'm a silly man who needs a shave and wears a fur coat, because the First Vice President and the Second Vice President and the Third Vice President and the General Manager and the Foreman have told me that already."

"Thank you for telling me," the President said. "I won't say it, but that's just what I think you are."

The Bear said, "I'm a Bear."

The President smiled and said, "You can't be a Bear. Bears are only in a zoo or a circus. They're never inside a factory and that's where you are; inside a factory. So how can you be a Bear?"

The Bear said, "But I am a Bear."

The President said, "Not only are you a silly man who needs a shave and wears a fur coat, but you are also very stubborn. So I'm going to prove it to you, once and for all, that you are not a Bear."

The Bear said, "But I am a Bear."

AND SO THEY ALL GOT INTO THE PRESIDENT'S CAR AND DROVE TO THE ZOO.

"Is he a Bear?" the President asked the zoo Bears. The zoo Bears said, "No, he isn't a Bear, because if he were a Bear, he wouldn't be outside the cage with you. He would be inside the cage with us."

The Bear said, "But I am a Bear."

...AND SO THEY ALL LEFT THE ZOO AND DROVE SIX HUNDRED MILES AWAY TO THE NEAREST CIRCUS.

"Is he a Bear?" the President asked the circus Bears. The circus Bears said, "No, he isn't a Bear, because if he were a Bear, he wouldn't be sitting in a grandstand seat with you. He would be wearing a little hat with a striped ribbon on it, holding on to a balloon and riding a bicycle with us."

The Bear said, "But I'm a Bear."

...They left the circus and drove back to the factory.

And so they put the Bear to work on a big machine with a lot of other men. The Bear worked on the big machine for many, many months.

One day a long time afterward, the factory closed down and all the workers left and went home. The Bear walked along far behind them. He was all alone, and had no place to go.

As he walked along, he happened to gaze up at the sky. Away up high, he saw a flock of geese flying south . . .

The Bear knew when the geese flew south and the leaves fell from the trees, that winter would soon be there and snow would cover the forest. It was time to go into a cave and hibernate.

So he walked over to a huge tree that had a cave hollowed out beneath its roots. He was just about to go into it, when he stopped and said, "But I CAN'T go into a cave and hibernate. I'm NOT a Bear. I'm a silly man who needs a shave and wears a fur coat."

So winter came. The snow fell. It covered the forest and it covered him. He sat there, shivering with cold and he said, "But I sure wish I was a Bear."

The longer he sat there the colder he became. His toes were freezing, his ears were freezing and his teeth were chattering. Icicles covered his nose and chin. He had been told so often, that he was a silly man who needed a shave and wore a fur coat, that he felt it must be true.

So he just sat there, because he didn't know what a silly man who needed a shave and wore a fur coat would do, if he were freezing to death in the snow. The poor Bear was very lonely and very sad. He didn't know what to think.

Then suddenly he got up and walked through the deep snow toward the cave. Inside, it was cosy and snug. The icy wind and cold, cold snow couldn't reach him here. He felt warm all over.

He sank down on a bed of pine boughs and soon he was happily asleep and dreaming sweet dreams, just like all bears do, when they hibernate.

So even though the FOREMAN and the GENERAL MANAGER and the THIRD VICE PRESIDENT and the SECOND VICE PRESIDENT and the FIRST VICE PRESIDENT and the PRESIDENT and the ZOO BEARS and the CIRCUS BEARS had said, he was a silly man who needed a shave and wore a fur coat, I don't think he really believed it, do you? No, indeed, he knew he wasn't a silly man, and he wasn't a silly Bear either.

Connection Questions

1. Create an identity chart for the bear. Which labels on the chart represent how he sees his own identity? Which ones represent how others in the story see him? When you are finished, create an identity chart for yourself.

2. Why do you think Frank Tashlin titled this story The Bear That Wasn't? Why didn't the factory officials recognize the Bear for what he was? Why did it become harder and harder for the Bear to maintain his identity as he moved through the bureaucracy of the factory?

3. What were the consequences for the Bear of the way others defined his identity?

4. Whose opinions and beliefs have the greatest effect on how you think about your own identity?

5. How does our need to be part of a group affect our actions? Why is it so difficult for a person to go against the group?

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No two people are exactly alike. Each of us is an individual with unique talents, interests, and values. Often, others do not recognize what is so distinct about us and instead attach labels to us that may differ from those we would choose for ourselves.

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Video

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Once upon a time, in fact it was on a Tuesday, the Bear saw that it was time to go into a cave and hibernate. And that was just what he did. Not long afterward, in fact it was on a Wednesday, lots of workers arrived near that cave. While the bear slept they built a great, huge factory.

As winter turned to spring, the Bear awoke and stepped out of his cave. His eyes popped. Where was the forest? Where was the grass? Where were the trees? Where were the flowers? What had happened?

"I must be dreaming," he said. "Of course I'm dreaming."

But it wasn't a dream. It was real. Just then, the Foreman came out of the factory. "Hey, you. Get back to work," he said.

The Bear replied. "I don't work here. I'm a Bear."

The foreman laughed. "That's a fine excuse for a man to keep from doing any work. Saying he's a Bear."

The Bear said, "But I am a Bear."

The Foreman stopped laughing. He was very mad. "Don't try to fool me," he said. "You're not a Bear. You're a silly man who needs a shave and wears a fur coat. I'm going to take you to the General Manager."

The General Manager also insisted the Bear was a silly man who needs a shave and wears a fur coat.

The Bear said, "No, you're mistaken. I am a Bear."

The General Manager was very mad too.

The Bear said, "I'm sorry to hear you say that. You see, I am a Bear."

The Third Vice President was even madder. The Second Vice President was more than mad, or madder. He was furious. The First Vice President yelled in rage. He said, "You're not a Bear. You're a silly man who needs a shave and wears a fur coat. I'm going to take you to the President."

The Bear pleaded, "This is a dreadful error, you know, because ever since I can remember, I've always been a Bear."

And that's exactly what the Bear told the President.

"Thank you for telling me," the President said. "You can't be a Bear. Bears are only in a zoo or a circus. They're never inside a factory and that's where you are, inside a factory. So how can you be a Bear?"

The bear said, "But I am a Bear."

The President said, "Not only are you a silly man who needs a shave and wears a fur coat, but you are also very stubborn. So I'm going to prove it to you, once and for all, that you are not a Bear."

The Bear said, "But I am a Bear."

The President packed his Vice Presidents and the Bear into a car, and they drove to the zoo. Bears at the zoo said the Bear was not a Bear, because if he were a Bear he would be inside a cage.

The Bear said, "I am a Bear."

So they all left the zoo and they drove to the nearest circus. "Is he a Bear?" The president asked the circus Bears.

The Bears said, no if he were a Bear he would be wearing a little hat with a striped ribbon holding on to a balloon and riding a bicycle.

The Bear said, "I am a Bear."

When the President and his Vice Presidents returned to the factory, they put the Bear to work on a big machine with lots of other men. The Bear worked on the big machine for many, many months.

After a long, long time, the factory closed and all the workers went away. The Bear was the last one left, and as he left the shut down factory, he saw geese flying south and leaves falling from the trees. Winter was coming, he thought. It was time to hibernate.

He found a cave and was about to enter when he stopped. "I can't go in a cave. I'm not a bear. I'm a silly man who needs a shave and wears a fur coat."

As the days grew colder and the snow fell, the Bear sat shivering with cold. "I wish I-- I wish I were a Bear," he thought.

Then suddenly he got up, walked through the deep snow toward the cave. Inside, it was cozy and snug. The icy wind and the cold, cold snow couldn't reach him there. He felt warm all over. He sank down on a bed of pine boughs and soon he was happily asleep and dreaming sweet dreams, just like all bears do when they hibernate.

So even though the Foreman, and the General Manager, and the Third Vice President, and the Second Vice President, and the First Vice President, and the President, and the zoo Bears, and the circus Bears, had said he was a silly man who needed a shave and wore a fur coat, I don't think he really believed it, do you?

No, indeed, he knew he wasn't a silly man, and he wasn't a silly Bear either.

This excerpt comes from Facing History and Ourselves, Holocaust and Human Behavior. For more information on this resource and our organization, please visit our website, facinghistory.org. or find us on Facebook.

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Once upon a time, in fact it was on a Tuesday, the Bear saw that it was time to go into a cave and hibernate. And that was just what he did. Not long afterward, in fact it was on a Wednesday, lots of workers arrived near that cave.

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Google Slides

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Facing History and Ourselves Grade 7 Welcome