It wasn’t until I no longer had those 30 minutes of lunch and recess, when all the boys and girls would come together to trade bracelets, make up games, gossip about who we liked, play tag and sports, that I realized how much of my childhood happened during the parts of school that had nothing to do with schoolwork. 

I was in the third grade when the COVID-19 pandemic began. I remember my parents explaining that I couldn’t go back to school and wondering when I would see my friends again — or whether I wanted to go back at all. But after spending two years learning from home, cut off from the friends, teachers and routines I had known, I began to understand what I had lost. 

For many of my friends and classmates, going to school changed from a bus ride every morning to clicking a link and seeing their teachers and classmates through a screen. My experience was a little different. Instead of going to virtual school, I was homeschooled. My new routine was sitting at my kitchen table, with my mom teaching me how to write a paragraph or solve a math problem, surrounded by the same walls I saw every day. 

My family was not alone. Many families across the country turned to homeschooling after schools shut down. Homeschooling increased sharply during the pandemic, especially among Black families, rising from 3.3 percent in the spring of 2020 to 16.1 percent that fall, according to the U.S. Census Bureau’s Household Pulse Survey.  

It would be two years before I entered a classroom again.

At first, I loved homeschooling.

I didn’t have to wake up early or put on a uniform. I liked the comfort of my own room, surrounded by my stuffed animals and toys. I didn’t have to push my way through that horrible lunch line because my food was now waiting for me at the kitchen table. 

It felt like a fever dream where school was canceled and all day was fun. That was my view as a 9-year-old. 

But as days turned into weeks and weeks into months, that initial excitement wore off.

Every day became the same routine. There was no recess when I could play princess with all the other girls. There were no conversations in the lunch line and none of the small things that had broken up the school day before. I didn’t realize how much those moments mattered until I could no longer experience them. 

With less to look forward to, I started spending more time on the internet. 

I turned to platforms such as YouTube and TikTok to distract myself. Instead of seeing what the kids around me were doing every day, I could watch people online show off their clothes, makeup, dances, art and lives. 

Over time, I started comparing myself with what I saw. I thought the way I dressed was childish and wanted to be like the superstars I saw online. I followed what was trendy and admired the girls and boys who looked so confident on screen.

Before the pandemic, my friends and I didn’t need the internet to tell us what was popular. But during those years at home, I became much more aware of what other people thought was cool and what someone my age was supposedly supposed to like. I felt as though I was growing up without getting to experience all the steps in between. 

When I finally returned to school, I thought my classmates would be excited to see each other again after spending so much time apart. 

Instead, I realized how much we all changed. 

When I walked through those doors, I remembered vague memories of running down those halls and always seeing my peers with smiles on their faces. Now those same faces were tired, with eye bags. The lunchroom, which used to be full of life with happy kids eating to their hearts’ content, turned into a lunch where all the girls controlled what they ate and talked about the latest trend on TikTok.

Maybe some of that change would have happened anyway. Kids grow up. Interests change. Middle school has always been awkward.

But I didn’t get to watch my classmates gradually change or change alongside them. I left one social world and came back to another.

When I returned, I was expected to understand a social world that had changed while I was gone. I felt I missed so much that I would never get back, and without that day-to-day learning to help me adapt to these new norms, I struggled.

Those everyday interactions are an important part of how children learn to get along with others: A 2026 meta-analysis of 157 studies from 33 countries published in the academic journal Child Development found that children’s social and emotional skills declined during the pandemic, along with their overall well-being. The researchers noted that schools are not just places where children learn math and reading. They are also places where children learn how to make friends, work through disagreements, understand other people’s feelings and manage their own emotions.

Years later, many parents say some of those effects are still being felt. In a 2025 Gallup survey, 45 percent of parents with school-age children said the pandemic hurt their child’s social skills, and 22 percent said those problems were still ongoing. Forty-two percent said the pandemic negatively affected their child’s mental health. Parents were more likely to report problems with their children’s social skills and mental health than with their academics or physical health.

I saw some of those changes around me, too. Classmates who once seemed outgoing became quieter or more withdrawn. Starting conversations felt harder. Making new friends felt harder. Sometimes retreating into myself felt easier than trying to figure out where I belonged.

Now, the kids who were in elementary school when the pandemic began are moving through high school. We are older, but some of us are still figuring out what those missing years meant.

Before the pandemic, I thought lunch and recess were simply breaks from learning. Now I understand that we were learning during those 30 minutes, too. We were learning how to make friends, how to disagree and make up, how to be embarrassed and recover from it, what we liked and what we didn’t, and slowly who we wanted to become.

I can’t know exactly who I would be if I had spent those years inside a classroom instead of at home. Maybe middle school still would have been awkward. Maybe I still would have worried about fitting in.

But I know I missed something I didn’t understand was important until it was gone: the ordinary, sometimes boring, sometimes ridiculous parts of growing up alongside other kids.

You can make up schoolwork. You can return to the classroom. But there are some parts of childhood you don’t get to repeat.

Gloria Collazo Huamani is a sophomore at Benjamin Banneker Academic High School in D.C., one of Youthcast Media Group’s journalism class partners. Gloria worked with James Jarvis, a YMG mentor-editor and reporter for Inside Health Policy, on this story.

Taylor Lianne Chandler, who earlier this year resigned from the Capital Pride Alliance Board of Directors after expressing concern that the board failed to address instances of “sexual misconduct” within the Capital Pride organization, said this week she doesn’t believe her concerns will be addressed following the resignation of the board’s current chairperson.

Capital Pride Alliance serves as the lead organizer of D.C.’s annual LGBTQ Pride events. 

Anna Jinkerson, who has served as chair of the Capital Pride board for only 10 months and has served on the board for the past four years, confirmed she is resigning from the board effective Sept. 30.

In a statement to the Washington Blade commenting on the possible impact of Jinkerson’s resignation, Chandler said Capital Pride board member Natalie Thompson would be replacing Jinkerson as board chair, and she didn’t expect that change to impact what she called Capital Pride’s problematic “culture.” 

But Ryan Bos, the Capital Pride president and CEO, told the Blade that Thompson had not been selected as the new board chair and that a new chair would not be selected until the board holds an election scheduled for October.

Chandler, who identifies as transgender, said it was a Capital Pride board member who told her that Natalie Thompson had been or would be selected as the new Capital Pride board chair. She didn’t identify the board member.

“My concerns about how Capital Pride has handled serious allegations of sexual misconduct have not disappeared with a change in leadership,” she told the Blade in her statement. “When leadership continues to socialize, smile for photographs, and share spaces with someone facing serious allegations, what message does that send to the people who say they were harmed,” she said.

Chandler has told the Blade a Capital Pride investigation identified an individual implicated in a “pattern” of sexual harassment-related behavior but said she was bound by a Non-Disclosure Agreement that applied to all board members and she could not provide further details.   

When asked by the Blade to comment on Chandler’s allegations at the time she resigned from the board in February of this year, board chair Jinkerson said Capital Pride acts “quickly and appropriately” to address concerns such as those raised by Chandler. But she and other Capital Pride officials did not at that time or since then specifically acknowledge whether someone associated with the organization engaged in sexual harassment.

“The community deserves transparency, accountability, and leadership willing to make difficult decisions,” Chandler said in her statement to the Blade this week. “Changing the chair doesn’t change the culture,” she added. “Actions do.”

In response to a request from the Blade for an update on its response to Chandler’s allegations about alleged sexual misconduct within the Capital Pride organization, Bos sent the Blade a statement on behalf of Capital Pride.

“The Capital Pride Alliance takes allegations of harassment, misconduct, and unsafe behavior seriously,” the statement says. “The organization follows standard procedures and engages appropriate resources to support a thorough, confidential, and impartial review, when information is reported.” 

The statement adds, ”Because these matters require maintaining confidentiality and protecting the privacy of personnel, volunteers, and governance processes, we will not comment on specific individuals, allegations, investigative findings or communications involving law enforcement.” 

It concludes by stating, “We remain committed to fostering a safe, respectful, and inclusive environment, appropriately addressing concerns raised, and continuing to strengthen our policies, governance practices, and organizational culture.”

Although the statement refers to “communications involving law enforcement,” Capital Pride has not disclosed whether instances of alleged sexual harassment or, as stated by Chandler, a possible instance of sexual assault, have been reported to D.C. police.  

A D.C. police spokesperson, in response to a Blade inquiry, said they have no record of a sexual harassment or sexual assault complaint surfacing from the Capital Pride office, which is located in the D.C. LGBTQ+ Community Center building at 1827 Wiltberger Street, N.W. 

But the Blade has obtained a D.C. police incident report that appears to confirm Capital Pride COO June Crenshaw’s claim in a recent Facebook post that she reported at least one incident of sexual harassment related to Capital Pride to D.C. police.

The report, which was filed on Oct. 11, 2025, states that Crenshaw told a police officer who prepared the report that another person told her “that a board member of Capital Pride Alliance groped his genitals at a Capital Pride event.” The report says Crenshaw told the officer the person who reported being groped “did not want to speak to the police at this time.”

The incident report, which is a public document, says the person who reported the groping told Crenshaw about it on Oct. 8, 2025. It concludes by saying Crenshaw was given “resource information” to provide to the person who said he was groped. It does not identify that person or the board member who allegedly committed the groping.  

Officials at Capital Pride recently exchanged testy public Facebook posts with Chandler. Crenshaw criticized Chandler for her social media posts on the matter.

“It is remarkable to watch people publicly accuse others of failing to create safe spaces when, during the time they themselves held positions of leadership and significant volunteer responsibility, they claim to have witnessed deeply troubling behavior, yet never reported what they allegedly witnessed to fellow leaders, law enforcement, the Office of the Attorney General, legal counsel, or staff responsible for addressing such concerns,” Crenshaw wrote. “When I became aware of allegations or personally witnessed conduct that required intervention, I reported what I knew through the appropriate channels, including to law enforcement and other relevant authorities. Investigations were conducted. Those processes created records, documentation, correspondence, timelines, and conclusions.”

Chandler responded, “I was NOT in organizational leadership or fully informed about the scope of these allegations when much of what you reference occurred. I was read into the situation after becoming an executive officer. By that point, the investigation had already concluded, and we were awaiting the final report. … Once that report became available to me, and once I understood the seriousness and scope of what was being alleged, my position was anything but ambiguous: I did not believe this individual should be welcomed at, participate in, or have access to official Pride events.”

Capital Pride’s attorney Nick Harrison then joined the exchange, accusing Chandler of violating confidentiality rules.

“You served on the Board for years. You cannot now present yourself as an outsider with no  responsibility for what occurred during your tenure,” Harrison wrote. “When the situation became difficult, you resigned, provided your resignation letter to the media, disclosed confidential organizational matters, and recast yourself as the victim.”

Again, no one has publicly identified the person Chandler references as being welcome at Pride events and photographed with Capital Pride leadership. 

The Center for Black Equity, the D.C.-based international network of LGBTQ activists and organizations that advocate for Black LGBTQ communities and organize Black Pride events worldwide, will hold its annual 2026 BE Gala in D.C. on Oct. 3.

The event, to be held at the Conrad Washington Hotel at 950 New York Ave., N.W., among other things, will honor at least a dozen “distinguished Black individuals” and organizations that champion Black LGBTQ communities, according to a statement released by the Center for Black Equity.

“The honorees will receive awards recognizing extraordinary leadership, advocacy, and service across civil rights, public health, the arts, media, entrepreneurship, and community life,” the statement says.

“With an elegant atmosphere and a bold mission, this unforgettable evening brings together advocates, allies, and change makers committed to equity and joy,” the statement says in referring to the Oct. 3 BE Gala.

The statement notes that tickets for the event, which serves as a fundraiser for the Center of Black Equity, begin at $250 for individuals and include dinner and two drinks. It says reserved tables for eight were being offered for $2,000, and “Premier” tables for eight were selling for $2,500 and include seating near the stage.

“The BE Gala is more than an evening of celebration,” according to the statement. “It is an opportunity to honor Black LGBTQ+ leadership while investing in the work of the Center for Black Equity.”

Kenya Hutton, the Center for Black Equity’s CEO, told the Washington Blade the name “BE” for the gala is not an acronym. “The name is rooted in the idea of being: being seen, being celebrated and being fully and authentically yourself,” he said.

“BE Gala creates a space to celebrate Black LGGTQ+ people for who they are, the lives they lead and the impact they make,” he added.

The Center for Black Equity until 2012 was called the International Federation of Black Prides and was founded by organizers of D.C.’s Black Pride celebration.

Its current website includes a statement saying it’s mission is to “promote a multinational LGBTQ+ network dedicated to improving health and wellness opportunities, economic empowerment, and equal rights while promoting individua and collective work, responsibilities, and self-empowerment.”     

The 2026 Center for Black Equity award honorees as announced in its statement released this week are:

Courtney Snowden: Welmore Cook Advocacy & Service Award

Clover Barnes: Ernest Hopkins Public Health Leadership Award

Nikki Alexander: Unsung Hero Award

Darryl G. Moore: Center for Black Equity Leadership Award

The Freelux Project: Center for Black Equity Small Business Award

Tori Cooper: Earline Budd Transgender Leadership Award

Bishop Steven R. Sawyer: Bishop Kwabena Rainey Cheeks Spiritual & Community Leadership Award

Rev. Carmarion D. Anderson-Harvey: Bishop Kwabena Rainey Cheeks Spiritual & Community Leadership Award

Monroe Alise: Trans Power in Media Award

Justin N. Stewart: National Black Pride Image Award

Marlene McNeese: Curtis L. Etherly Jr. Ally Award

Venton Jones: Eleanor Holmes Norton Civil Rights & Justice Award

In Our Own Voices, Inc.: Ruth Ellis Community Impact Award