zero physical labor, just because they are not able bodied. I will share another example with you today. I suffer from a unique form of ableism due to something we call Invisible illness. This is a disability or impediment that can go by undetected. What passing is to racism, invisible illness is to ableism. I have never had to use a wheel chair, and I have never been mocked for not being able to walk; yet, I have a disability that I grapple with every day of my life. I was born with a genetic condition called Ehler-Danlos Syndrome (EDS) that holds me back physically. I get extreme pain from writing more than a few words on paper, I can’t stand for more than a few minutes straight without my knees collapsing, and I am held down by crippling joint pain every day of my life. Yet, most of my friends, teachers, and peers would never know. Many of you who I have let into my circle, and shared my struggle with have been great. Others have shut me down or not believed me. I was once told that since I am not in a wheel chair or that since I don't looked messed up, my pain, my experience, is not legitimate. This has happened on more than one occasion at this school, and it has happened with teachers at this school. My experience dealing with ableism has been one like that of charlie brown kicking a football. Time and time again the football has been removed from my foot. As an ideological conservative I didn't expect anyone to kick the football for me, so I kept trying and I eventually got it. But that process was too long, too hard, and not fair. I wish I had an advocate to support me, and I want every potential student like me at this school to have an ally from day one. I truly believe that this person can and will be the diversity coordinator. Connor Wise, junior
One time when I was helping out at an upper school information event, a parent asked me, "How many visible students of color are there in the Upper School?" When she asked me this, I thought about my first day at Avenues. The first thing that I saw was the difference between my skin color and everyone else's. I felt, and I still feel visibly alone. To some people, though, there is only one real black girl in the high school. Who am I again? Am I Nikaila? Zaza? Lola? It all depends on the day and who I am talking to. All four (four is not a lot) of the black students in the eighth grade are not returning to Avenues for high school, and for probably a similar reason. Being mistaken for one of the other few black students in the high school makes me uncomfortable. It makes me uncomfortable that the hundreds of white students in the upper school be told apart, yet I’m mixed up with a student that I only share a similar skin tone with. And sometimes, it makes me feel voiceless— if I say something meaningful, will people even remember that I said it, or will they remember it as someone else’s words? Even as the school's culture evolves and new traditions are being established, I'm still working hard to become comfortable in my skin at Avenues. Thus, I am lobbying for a diversity office, so that there is a chance for more students that look like me to have a chance to comfortably attend Avenues. So how did I answer her question? I was dying to tell her what I just told all of you, but I said, "I'm not too sure, but honestly--not a lot." Kyla Windley, sophomore
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