What That One Word on Stage Taught Me About Book Bans

Free speech, fragile kids, and the difference between discomfort and danger

My son grew up in a small town. He’s gay. And like a lot of kids who realize they’re different before they’re ready to say it out loud, he went looking for stories.

Not flashy ones. Just something, anything, that helped him make sense of what he was feeling. He needed to understand who he was. Something that let him know he wasn’t the only kid in the world trying to do the algebra of identity while dodging the oddities of junior high.

And if a teacher had assigned a book with a gay character, you better believe, he would’ve paid attention. Not because it was assigned, but because it might’ve felt like a lifeline. See, that’s the thing about books: they’re not just entertainment. They’re a flashlight in the dark, especially for kids who are carrying more than they’re saying.

This week, we’ll vote on SB 1098 in the Oregon House of Representatives. I’ve received hundreds of emails. Many thoughtful. Many concerned. Concerned that this bill will institutionalize books with graphic violence or explicit sexual content in public schools. Let me be clear: It does not.

It’s not about forcing inappropriate content into classrooms. It’s about ensuring a book isn’t pulled just because of who wrote it, or who’s in it.

---

When Words Wound

By junior year of high school, my son was out. He’d spent three years in student government. He was well-liked. Smart. Driven. So when it came time to run for student body president, he did what every candidate did—made posters, handed out candy, gave his elevator pitch tied to homemade cookies.

The big day came. Candidates lined up on stage. One by one, they gave speeches. But when it was his turn—when he stepped up to the microphone in front of 600 classmates—a student supporting another candidate sitting in the crowd yelled “Fag.”

Loud enough for the whole auditorium to hear.

My son froze. He gave the speech, but not the one he had planned. At least, not with the energy and enthusiasm he had practiced.

He lost.

And despite me asking the school to look into it, all that happened was a generic reminder over the PA from the principal that slurs are “inappropriate.”

No accountability. No apology. Just a public gut punch and a private wound. That’s a tough way to learn a lesson.

That’s why I think about bills like SB 1098 not just as policy, but as personal. Because the question isn’t whether a book should be in a 4th-grade classroom. The question is: What kind of world are we building for the kids in the auditorium?

---

What the Bill Gets Right

At its heart, SB 1098 says something simple: you can’t remove a book from a school library just because it makes you uncomfortable with someone else’s existence.

If a book is written by a Black author, or features a trans protagonist, or centers a Muslim family—that alone can’t be the reason it’s pulled from the shelf.

And let’s not kid ourselves, those attempts are happening. Not just in red states. Right here in Oregon. Books about gay characters labeled “inappropriate.” Stories about racism called “divisive.” Whole identities treated as though they’re radioactive, when all they are is human.

In Texas, Keller Independent School District pulled over 40 books from shelves, including Anne Frank’s Diary: The Graphic Adaptation, Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye, and several memoirs by LGBTQ+ authors. Now, let’s be fair, The Bluest Eye contains graphic sexual violence. That’s a legitimate conversation about age-appropriateness. But Anne Frank? A nonbinary author’s memoir? Books were yanked not for content, but for “themes.” That’s not discernment. That’s fear in a trench coat. And the result? Students lose access to stories that could have helped them understand themselves, or someone else, just a little better.

This bill tries to push back against that instinct. It says: Discomfort isn’t a disqualifier. And in a pluralistic society, that’s a principle worth defending.

---

What Gives Me Pause

That said, let’s be honest about the fine print. SB 1098 doesn’t just prevent viewpoint discrimination. It also makes it harder, sometimes a lot harder, for parents and educators to raise legitimate concerns about age-appropriateness.

Want to remove a book because it has graphic content? Better prepare a multi-step justification that proves your motives are pure, your process was perfect, and your paperwork could survive a court challenge. Oh, and you might need a committee. And a lawyer. And a helmet.

The fear is that, in trying to protect important voices, we might unintentionally create a process so burdensome that schools stop engaging with the question altogether. Instead of leaning into diversity, some districts might quietly avoid anything “controversial,” and the shelves get blander, not better.

There’s a difference between a book with a gay character and a book with explicit sexual content. The two are not interchangeable, no matter how loud the headlines try to make them.

---

The Middle Way

So where does that leave us?

Somewhere in the messy, uncomfortable, grown-up place where we hold two things at once:

1. Books about marginalized experiences matter.

2. Not every book is right for every grade.

That’s not contradiction. That’s discernment. And it’s supposed to be the job.

And by the way, stories about kids who are different aren’t just for the kids who live them. They’re for the rest of the class too. Because that’s how you raise humans who don’t yell slurs from the back row.

We need stories that reflect kids like my son. But we also need the freedom to say: This book is powerful, and maybe better suited for high school or college. That’s not banning. That’s curation.

Look, I believe in local control. I’m a parent too. And I want a say in what my kids read. But local control doesn’t mean total control. It means shared responsibility. Public schools serve the whole public, which includes kids with gay parents, kids who wear hijabs, kids who are figuring out where they fit. Protecting their right to see themselves in a story isn’t an attack on anyone else’s values. It’s a reminder that the world is bigger than any one household.

The best solution isn’t to throw up our hands or throw out the law. It’s to refine the process. Make sure schools can remove books for legitimate, content-based reason, but hold them accountable when identity bias sneaks in the back door. Make the standards clear. Make them public. And trust parents and educators enough to have the conversation in daylight.

---

The Story That Matters

I don’t know if the kid who yelled that slur at my son had ever read a book that showed what it’s like to be gay in a small town. I doubt it. But maybe, if he had, he would’ve seen my son not as a target, but as a classmate. A peer. Someone who, for all his differences, was still trying to give a speech just like everyone else.

That’s the power of stories. They humanize the unfamiliar. They build bridges where silence builds walls.

SB 1098 may not be perfect. But if it helps more kids find the authentic stories they need, if it keeps one more flashlight shining in the dark, then it’s a step worth taking. Let’s make it better. But let’s not pretend we don’t need it.

Because the right story, at the right time, doesn’t just change a kid’s outlook. Sometimes, it changes what happens on that stage.