But Still it Moves

“Eppur si muove,” muttered Galileo under his breath as he was being silenced by the Vatican: “But still it moves.”

I teach.
It is how I make my living.
It is also work that I love.
I am pretty good at it.
I have been doing it for a quarter of a century now.
Before that...  I always wanted to do it.
Always.
Just ask my kid brothers.  
They would tell you of the trials of growing up with a teacher-wannabe.

I am 59 years old.
My hope is that I will retire, when the time comes, from the teaching position I currently hold.
To do that, there are agreements that must be made.
Papers that must be signed.
Obligations that must be undertaken.

I may not be, in public, who I truly am.
It is forbidden.
Silence is required.
The price to be paid for a bit of security.

Non-consensual gagging.
Adherence to demands born of centuries-long misogynistic mythology.

My silence is deafening.
I can hear the truth, screaming in my own ears.
Hardly Galileo, I know that there remains a truth.
Do not mistake my lack of voice for assent.