I Called My Son Samuel 7

At Samuel's secondary school the boys were going into the changing rooms.  One of the girls came up to them.
"Hello.  I'm seventeen years old, I was born Jenny, and I'm about to become Johnny.  I'm having the operation.  Can I come and use your changing rooms?"  Sweaty's face lit up as if he couldn't believe his luck.
"Yes, yes, come inside," he said.
"We're very open minded here," said Big Beef.
"Am I dreaming?" asked Toffer.

In the staff room, the teachers were having a staff meeting.
"I'm having to teach A' Level English literature," said Mr. Jones.  "I'm an engineer.  I'm a scientist.  I got an O' level in English and it was only a C."
"I'm sorry James," said Mr. Killburn, the headteacher.  "We haven't got a specialist English teacher."
"A' Level English is easy," said Mrs. Mogg.  "Get the old A' level exam questions and look up the answers on the internet.  It's all about books, so know the books backwards, read them all 6 or 7 times.  Some of your students are very clever.  It's amazing what they can teach you."
"That's nothing.  At least you've got an O' level. I'm going to have to teach German," said Mr. Watson.  "I don't know a single word of the language."
"I'm sorry Michael," said Mr. Killburn, "we have a desperate shortage of specialist teachers."
"You need revision aids, GCSE and A' Level, and do foreign language courses for people who are going on holiday, just to help you with the pronounciation," said Miss Jackson.  "I teach French.  I failed my French O' level at school."
"At least you took it," said Mr. Watson.  "I've never had a German lesson in my life."
"Imagine teaching Maths when you failed your Maths O' Level," said Mr. Harvey.  "I actually enrolled at Bournemouth College to do a course in Mathematics myself.  If I get the A' Level, George is going to make me head of the department."
"Yes I will Gary," said Mr. Killburn.  "You'll have a job for life.  Any other problems?"
"A message has appeared on the school website," said Miss Jackson.  "The toilets were vandalised by the school gay club."
"The school has a gay club?" asked Mr. Killburn.
"Yes it does," said Miss Jackson.  "Run by Jenny Hart, who prefers to be called Johnny Hart and regards himself as being male, so remember that, or you'll be suspended for being transphobic."
"How did they get on to the school website?  I thought the only people who had access to the school website were me and Gary."
"That's right Mr. Killburn," said Mr. Harvey, "except that I'm always talking about my car.  Someone must have guessed that my password was my car registration number."
"Oh no.  What does it say, this message?"
"Bisexual, Genderless, Gay Or Transgender Students," said Miss Jackson.
"That spells biggots," said Mr. Watson.
"Did they say why they vandalised the toilets?"
"They are campaigning for all public toilets to be made unisex," said Miss Jackson.
"That's why they smashed the urinals," said Mr. Jones.  "What a mess they made of them.  Must have done it with a hammer.  Smashed them into smithereens.  Broken porcelain and water all over the floor."
"Get rid of all the urinals in the school," said Mr. Killburn.
"George," said Mr. Jones, "you can't just give them what they want."
"Watch me.  I don't want a prolonged battle about this.  I don't want it to be on the news.  This could go worldwide.  Headteacher refuses to give students unisex toilets.  I'd be like headmaster Ray Honeyford in Bradford.  I'd never work again.  Get the urinals taken out.  Put politically correct signs on the doors. These are unisex toilets that can be used by students of either, any or no gender."

Back at the farm, a new arrival had come to stay.  A man of about 30 was standing with a big suitcase.
"Matthew," said Stanley.  "Can you take our guest up to his room?"
"What's your name?" asked Matthew.
"I'm Bob.  No more bad habits.  People can't pay the rent because they spend all their money on bad habits, drugs, gambling and drink, so they get evicted."
"Is that what happened to you?"
"Yes."
"Is that the only reason you're here?"
"Yes.  Stanley couldn't stand the thought of me living on the streets.  But I've changed.  No more bad habits."  
Angie was very angry with Stanley.
"Stanley," she said, with a cynical smile on her face, "you are like a cat that brings strange animals into my house.  We don't take on people who have been evicted.  You don't know what they were evicted for."
"Bob has changed his ways."
"Has he changed his ways since last week?  If he couldn't pay the rent before, how is he going to pay it here?"
"He seems like a perfectly pleasant and sensitive person."
"Because he's a drug addict.  So pleasant and sensitive that he can't cope with life.  Your other friend, Charlie, never pays the rent."
"Charlie is looking for a job."
"How many years are we going to have to wait before he gets one?"  Matthew and Bob arrived at the top of the stairs.
"You're sharing a room with Charlie," said Matthew.  Charlie was sitting on his bed.
"Hello," said Bob.  "I'm Bob.  No more bad habits.  You've got to stop you're bad habits.  You've got to get off drugs and get off drink.  People are living on the streets because they spend all their money on bad habits.  But I've learnt my lesson."
"I'm Charlie.  I'm a changed man.  I was a church pastor for 20 years.  I hadn't experienced the real fullness of the Holy Spirit until I came here."
"Charlie," said Matthew, "you can say that for a short time but you've been saying it for 5 years.  No one believes you."

The next day at school, Samuel approached Mrs Whitfield, the girl's PE teacher, in the yard.
"Please Miss, can I come and play netball with the girls?"
"Well Samuel, these are liberated times.  You want to come and play netball with the girls?"
"Yes Miss.  On Wednesday afternoon, when the girls in my class have PE with you."
"Yes Samuel, you can come and join them if you want."
"Please Miss, call me Sammy.  I don't like being called Samuel.  I am Sammy.  Is it all right if I wear a bright blue T shirt and a blue skirt?"  Mrs. Whitfield smiled.
"Aah, you little dear."
"Please Miss, don't be patronising."  Mrs. Whitfield looked shocked and frightened.  "Can I use the girls' changing rooms?" asked Sammy.
"Sammy, you can get changed anywhere.  Why don't you use the boys' changing rooms and then come to the lesson?"
"Johnny Hart does it."
"The boys fancy her."
"If Mr. Allen knows that Big Beef and Toffer are gazing at her, why doesn't he stop it?"
"He's too afraid to say anything.  He doesn't want to be considered transphobic."
"Please Miss, if the other boys saw me changing into a bright blue T shirt and a blue skirt, they might laugh at me."
"You've got a point, Sammy, I think they'd do more than just laugh at you.  I hope you've got a kidney donor card.  We've got some unisex toilets in the school now.  Why don't you get changed in one of the cubicles?"
"All right, Miss.  Thank you for being so understanding."

That afternoon at the farm, Pastor Boris was standing next to his wife Valerie, holding a book he had been given by Samuel.  It was a hot day and the big glass doors of the lounge were wide open.
"I'm so pleased with my son," he said.  "He's 11 years old, and he's read this big Christian book.  The life story of Vicky Beeching.  Imagine reading a big thick book like that when you're only 11."  Pastor Boris opened the cover.  "He's written something inside.  His hand writing is very neat.  'This is my story too.'  Obviously destined to be a great Christian leader."  Samuel arrived home.
"I think it's time I came out," Samuel said.
"You mean you think it's time you came outside because it's warm?" asked Valerie.
"I think it's time I came out and told the world that I'm gay."
"You're not," said Pastor Boris.
"He is," said Matthew.
"I've got a name badge from the school gay club," said Samuel.  "I am Sammy.  Call me she."  Matthew looked at the book Pastor Boris was holding.
"Do you know who Vicky Beeching is?"
"She's a Christian singer," said Pastor Boris.
"Yes," said Matthew, "and a lesbian and a gay rights campaigner."  Pastor Boris looked shocked.
"You're not gay, Sammy, you only think you are," he said.
"He sounds pretty convinced to me," said Matthew.
"I've bought a blue skirt and a bright blue T shirt so I can play netball with the girls tomorrow afternoon."
"That is an abomination," said Pastor Boris.
"Oh, calm down, Dear," said Valerie.  "The poor kid can't help thinking he's a girl."
"Dad, you want me to be a church leader.  I can have the operation and become a woman vicar."
"Be very careful.  God's wrath will rise."
"Then I'll go to Scotland so I can marry gay people."
"Stop this nonsense.  Stop this nonsense.  One more word and God will strike you dead."
"Strike him dead?" asked Valerie.  "You think God would strike your son dead for thinking he's a girl?  He's only 11."
"We must hope that this is only a homosexual phase," said Pastor Boris.
"Perhaps he was born that way," said Matthew.  "Have you always felt like this?"  Sammy nodded his head.
"Son, you could not possibly have been born that way."
"Why is that, Pastor Boris?" asked Matthew.  
"Because God couldn't possibly create anything so disgusting."  They all looked really shocked.
"I don't know who is the biggest sinner," said Valerie, "Sammy, Vicky Beeching, or you.  God allows little children to be born with dyslexia.  Homosexuality is no different to that."
"I resent my homosexuality being compared to a disability," said Sammy.
"Well then, perhaps it's not even as bad," said Valerie.  "We're all born in sin and not everybody has a perfect brain."
"I have a perfect brain," said Sammy.  "It just happens to be a girl's brain."

Pastor Boris led the church service that Sunday morning.  He stood on the stage with a big suitcase.
"I am fed up with looking down at people fiddling with their mobile phones while I am preaching," he said.  "I want you to take your mobile phones and put them in this suitcase."  The suitcase was passed around.  It soon contained a hundred and forty mobile phones.  "Do not look at pornography on your mobile phone.  Sexual sin is like no other sin.  Sexual sin is the sin a man commits inside his own body.  It is the deadliest sin.  Do not watch films on your mobile phone.   Do not create your own little fantasy world.  Especially do not fiddle with them while you at a christian meeting.  Must you always be texting eachother?  When was the last time you went up to a person and had a proper conversation with them?  Cure your addiction to your mobile by living without it for three hours while you are in this meeting.  Today I will be preaching on the book of Hebrews.  I wonder how many people here this morning are like the people who rebelled against Moses in the desert.  I wonder how many times I will have to lift up the bronze snake in this pulpit.  God told Moses, 'Away from them.  I will wipe them out and destroy them and make you into the father of a great nation.'  Moses interceded for the people.  'Please God, don't do this.  Our enemies will mock us.  They will say you brought us out into this desert to die.'  How many times must I intercede for you?  The proverb is equally true of you as it was of them.  'All day long I have held out my hands to a wicked and disobedient people.'  If you get bored by the end of 3 hours, it is because you have hardened your heart."  Pastor Boris began preaching from the book of Hebrews.  The first chapter was rapturous.  'Jesus is greater than the prophets.  Jesus is greater than the angels.  Oh, how great Jesus is.  'To which of the angels did God ever say, sit at my right hand until I make your enemies a footstool for your feet?'  Jesus will reign.  Jesus will reign.  Make sure you are living your life fully for God on the day of Jesus' return.  If anyone is found drunk when he retuns, or hasn't had their time of Bible study and prayer in the morning, you will be left behind in a world ruled by the anti-Christ.  Keep the oil in your lamp and keep it burning.'  The meeting ended.  People came to the suitcase, which was now laid on a table, to get their mobile phones.
"Which is mine?" asked Beverley.
"Which is mine?" asked Helen.  "There must be 150 mobile phones in this suitcase and I do not know which one is mine."
"I'll phone you," said Beverley.  "I'll phone you, on this phone, and see which of the phones rings."  Beverley phoned a number.  One of the phones rang.  Helen shuffled through all the phones in the suitcase, took some of them out and put them on the table, until she found her own.
"Now phone me," said Helen.  Beverley phoned Helen.  Helen's phone rang.  Once again, there was a shuffling of phones on the table.  Helen found her own.  It was 3 hours before everbody else had done the same thing and they were all reconciled with their mobile phone.

The next day Mr. Jones was teaching the A' level English class.
"Here's a good A' level exam question," he said.  "Describe Ernest Hemingway's portrayal of war.  Ernest Hemingway concentrated on the physical and psychological effects of war."
"No he didn't," said Alistair.  "Ernest Hemingway describes very vividly the physical effects of war, his description of being blown up by a shell, his description of the bullet coming out from below his friend's eye, but deliberately plays down the psychological effects of war."  Alistair could see the teacher rapidly typing everything that was being said into his tablet.  "The feelings for his friend who was killed by the bullet are dealt with in one sentence, 'I liked him as much as anyone I ever knew.'  He did not write a whole paragraph about this."
"That's rubbish," said Julie.  "There is an economy of words in Hemingway.  'I liked him as much as anyone I ever knew,' is perfectly sad, and perfectly psychological, it is very intense."
"It's still not as detailed as some of his physical descriptions of war," said Alistair.  "There is no economy of words when he describes being blown up by a shell, or describes the things that he saw in the back of his ambulance as a stretcher bearer in world war I."
"Wouldn't you say, Sir," said Simon, "that All Is Quiet on the Western Front was more psychological than Hemingway?"
"No, it's physical in its descriptions," said Alistair.
"All is Quiet on the Western Front is very psychological in its approach," said Julie.  "The author's intention is to recreate the full emotional tragedy of war.  He points out that he is the only one of his regiment left alive.  In the end he dies in the hospital, after inhaling some gas."
"I find Hemingway to be very factual and matter of fact," said Alistair, "playing down the psychological, compared to All is Quiet on the Western Front."
"Please Sir," said Simon, "don't you think it's much more significant that there are no heroes in Hemingway?  They were blown up while they were eating cheese.  His friend proposes him for a medal.  War is a job, in Hemingway, like an ordinary 9 to 5 job.  One does what one has to do.  There are very few heroes."
"Even when the Italians were trying to shoot him for desertion he didn't get emotional," said Alistair.  "He was in a retreat, and they wanted to shoot the men for running away.  He ended up hiding in a river.  But on that occaision Hemingway certainly didn't describe what it felt like psychologically."  Mr. Jones looked puzzled.
"So what I read about Ernest Hemingway on that bookseller's website was wrong," he said.
"Yes Sir," said Alistair.