Sex with Babies: A True Story
Of the many stories that I have meant to tell lately, I think the first of installment is going to have to do with what happened to me this evening. Let me set this up.
Place: My classroom.
Time: Daytime. August. Before the school year has actually started.
Characters. Ms. Dietrich (me as off-duty teacher). Manuel (as previous student).
As the scene begins, I am setting up my classroom again for the upcoming school year. Wearing a red t-shirt and jeans (if that matters), and my hair is in a bun.
Manuel walks in.
(A bit of the back story: Manuel was one of my students last year who just disappeared toward the end of the school year, right before finals. Not that finals would really matter for him. His grade was so low in my class, that the almighty herself would not be able to raise it from its final resting place. He was never a behavior problem in any way, he just didn't do a damn thing. Ever. Despite that, we got along alright. Once, he mentioned in his journal that he got kicked out of his house, and that he was just trying to do better so that he could go home. He missed them. I asked him about it shortly after. Asked him if things were any better; if he got to go home yet, and I think it meant something to him. But that's pretty much the extent of our bonding.)
So I'm straightening papers, or some other teachery thing, and he walks in.
"Hey!" I said.
"Hi, Ms. Dietrich." He opens his arms for a somewhat awkward hug. Contrary to what those who know me would think, I don't hug my students. Well, I never initiate it, and only reply with a perfunctory hug in return when it is presented.
He begins to apologize that he never came back to school, and tells me the story of how he got fingered for shooting at the school (after school hours) with a beebee gun. How he went to juvie. How he's on probation. How he's trying to get out of a gang right now,
Look, Ms. Dietrich, I've been cutting off the tattoos with my knife.
Um. That's great (great?!), Manuel.
but how they're looking for him and guys keep chasing him to try to jump him. How he's trying to do better with his life and trying to come back to this school, because things are really bad in the community day school they put him in. He just wants to be the first in his family to graduate high school, but he's so far behind on credits, they won't let him come here (not to mention the expulsion for shooting up the school).
And he's telling the truth. I've known enough liars in my life to know how to spot them.
Eventually, I told him I had to go back to the office. I always kind of make this escape when a student has stayed with me for some extended period of time and the conversation begins to lag. I don't want to kick them out, but eventually, I do have to get back to work.
I was pretty stoked, though. I had no idea that I had made enough of an impact on him for him to seek me out the next year. It felt pretty damn good. Call me Michelle Pfeifer. Or Hillary Swank. I even kinda felt okay about the hug. This is what happens, I suppose. You don't really hug your students during the school year, but when they're not your students anymore, it's okay to be a bit more affectionate. Right?
New scene:
Place: My classroom.
Time: Today. After 4pm. School's over for the day.
Characters: Ms. Dietrich (technically off-duty, but still in teacher-mode). Manuel (as former student).
As this scene begins, I am at my desk trying desperately to catch up on all of the grade-imputing and lesson planning and whatnot. Failing miserably. I'm now in more teachery clothes. Black slacks. Brown shirt. Hair still in a bun. (Why do I mention the clothes? I suppose as a defense for the clothing comment to come.)
Manuel walks in.
We do the hugging thing (by now, I have become a pro. All my former students enjoy the hugging thing, and it does feel much less awkward as long as they are not currently my student).
He sits and begins to tell me the second installment of his story. How he's now back at this school (sort of) in a non-main streamed program that will help him to catch up on his credits. How he got jumped a while back and the guy pulled a knife on him before he got away. How he was afraid to go to the hospital to get checked out, because he might get in trouble with his probation officer and go back for three years. How one of the guys who did it goes to the same program in the school. How he's trying to stay out of trouble and get a job. And maybe he can do TA work for me after school and that could go toward his community service hours that he needs by December.
And I'm proud. And I tell him so. More talk. More encouragement.
And then he mentioned that he had been drinking before he came over. Just in passing. In between all of the trying to get a job and his mother and father getting a divorce, and she won't sleep in the same room with him and when his dad moves out they won't have enough to pay the rent.
More commiseration on my part. More encouragement.
And then.
My lips were dry.
Must I defend this? I talk all day to a bunch of teenagers, and by the end of the day, my lips are puckered like another part of the anatomy that I won't mention. Without missing a beat in our conversation, I pull out my lip-gloss and begin to apply.
And then.
"Aw, Ms. Dietrich. Are you putting that on for me?"
Startled and little confused, "Yeah. Totally. You caught me." I laced each monosyllabic word with the heaviest dose of sarcasm I could scrape up.
Now, I'm kind of used to my students flirting with me. Most of the time it's pretty harmless, and at least it's a tiny bit less disturbing now that I'm teaching high school and not junior high. I'm young(ish). I'm decent looking. It's bound to happen, I suppose (or so sayeth all of my friends).
"Aw, Ms. Dietrich, you were," he teases. "You know you are so fine, Ms. Dietrich."
Hmm. I wonder what I actually said right here. I'm not sure I know for sure. I was so flummoxed by this direct full-forced flirting, that I think what came out must have sounded a bit like,
"Uh..Manuel...no...stop.youshouldn't...uh, wow." Only more smashed together like I was eating peanut butter.
I'm still trying to stare at my purse, my desk, my computer, so I don't have to look at him, because I'm not sure I have a grasp on the situation at this point.
"Look, you're blushing Ms. Dietrich. You know your hot. I remember when I was in your class and sometimes I would see your thong. Yeah." He rolls this out of his mouth with all the practice of every man I've ever had approach me at a club.
And in the moment, I feel small. Young. Like he has the upper hand, because he is saying things I can't come up with a response to and looking at me like HE'S the MAN. Does that make sense? Not predatorily, but a shift of power. I feel somewhat like the incredible shrinking woman in the PSA commercial whose stature diminishes as he harasses her. Only, eventually she grew to normal size and said, "This is sexual harassment, and I'm NOT going to take it any more!" and I just shifted peanut butter around in my mouth with my tongue, hoping he would just go away.
Within about a minute, I've begun to pack my things to go, and I make up that I have to go to the office. And he leaves. No second hug. I think I'm running too fast.
And, see, my friends constantly tease me about being "the hot teacher" and laugh about how I'm going to be one of those teachers that runs away with a student. Heck, even my boyfriend jokes about it. It's always made me feel on the defensive (I mean, come on, they're joking about me being a pedophile). This boy is much bigger than me. But he is a boy. And I don't want to have sex with babies. And I'm finding it kind of hard to deal with one of them wanting me. Um. Ew.
I brought this up to another teacher, and his warning had more to do with my safety. He is bigger than me. It is not too far fetched (in theory) (unfortunately), that a teenage male student could try to force himself on his smaller female teacher. Now, I really don't believe this of him, but he was drinking, and I suppose it is something I must consider.
I'm not really sure what my next move is. I don't want to cut him off completely (I still think he needs a positive adult in his life who will try to advise him to stay on the right path), but I don't really know how to deal with this either.
Fin.
Place: My classroom.
Time: Daytime. August. Before the school year has actually started.
Characters. Ms. Dietrich (me as off-duty teacher). Manuel (as previous student).
As the scene begins, I am setting up my classroom again for the upcoming school year. Wearing a red t-shirt and jeans (if that matters), and my hair is in a bun.
Manuel walks in.
(A bit of the back story: Manuel was one of my students last year who just disappeared toward the end of the school year, right before finals. Not that finals would really matter for him. His grade was so low in my class, that the almighty herself would not be able to raise it from its final resting place. He was never a behavior problem in any way, he just didn't do a damn thing. Ever. Despite that, we got along alright. Once, he mentioned in his journal that he got kicked out of his house, and that he was just trying to do better so that he could go home. He missed them. I asked him about it shortly after. Asked him if things were any better; if he got to go home yet, and I think it meant something to him. But that's pretty much the extent of our bonding.)
So I'm straightening papers, or some other teachery thing, and he walks in.
"Hey!" I said.
"Hi, Ms. Dietrich." He opens his arms for a somewhat awkward hug. Contrary to what those who know me would think, I don't hug my students. Well, I never initiate it, and only reply with a perfunctory hug in return when it is presented.
He begins to apologize that he never came back to school, and tells me the story of how he got fingered for shooting at the school (after school hours) with a beebee gun. How he went to juvie. How he's on probation. How he's trying to get out of a gang right now,
Look, Ms. Dietrich, I've been cutting off the tattoos with my knife.
Um. That's great (great?!), Manuel.
but how they're looking for him and guys keep chasing him to try to jump him. How he's trying to do better with his life and trying to come back to this school, because things are really bad in the community day school they put him in. He just wants to be the first in his family to graduate high school, but he's so far behind on credits, they won't let him come here (not to mention the expulsion for shooting up the school).
And he's telling the truth. I've known enough liars in my life to know how to spot them.
Eventually, I told him I had to go back to the office. I always kind of make this escape when a student has stayed with me for some extended period of time and the conversation begins to lag. I don't want to kick them out, but eventually, I do have to get back to work.
I was pretty stoked, though. I had no idea that I had made enough of an impact on him for him to seek me out the next year. It felt pretty damn good. Call me Michelle Pfeifer. Or Hillary Swank. I even kinda felt okay about the hug. This is what happens, I suppose. You don't really hug your students during the school year, but when they're not your students anymore, it's okay to be a bit more affectionate. Right?
New scene:
Place: My classroom.
Time: Today. After 4pm. School's over for the day.
Characters: Ms. Dietrich (technically off-duty, but still in teacher-mode). Manuel (as former student).
As this scene begins, I am at my desk trying desperately to catch up on all of the grade-imputing and lesson planning and whatnot. Failing miserably. I'm now in more teachery clothes. Black slacks. Brown shirt. Hair still in a bun. (Why do I mention the clothes? I suppose as a defense for the clothing comment to come.)
Manuel walks in.
We do the hugging thing (by now, I have become a pro. All my former students enjoy the hugging thing, and it does feel much less awkward as long as they are not currently my student).
He sits and begins to tell me the second installment of his story. How he's now back at this school (sort of) in a non-main streamed program that will help him to catch up on his credits. How he got jumped a while back and the guy pulled a knife on him before he got away. How he was afraid to go to the hospital to get checked out, because he might get in trouble with his probation officer and go back for three years. How one of the guys who did it goes to the same program in the school. How he's trying to stay out of trouble and get a job. And maybe he can do TA work for me after school and that could go toward his community service hours that he needs by December.
And I'm proud. And I tell him so. More talk. More encouragement.
And then he mentioned that he had been drinking before he came over. Just in passing. In between all of the trying to get a job and his mother and father getting a divorce, and she won't sleep in the same room with him and when his dad moves out they won't have enough to pay the rent.
More commiseration on my part. More encouragement.
And then.
My lips were dry.
Must I defend this? I talk all day to a bunch of teenagers, and by the end of the day, my lips are puckered like another part of the anatomy that I won't mention. Without missing a beat in our conversation, I pull out my lip-gloss and begin to apply.
And then.
"Aw, Ms. Dietrich. Are you putting that on for me?"
Startled and little confused, "Yeah. Totally. You caught me." I laced each monosyllabic word with the heaviest dose of sarcasm I could scrape up.
Now, I'm kind of used to my students flirting with me. Most of the time it's pretty harmless, and at least it's a tiny bit less disturbing now that I'm teaching high school and not junior high. I'm young(ish). I'm decent looking. It's bound to happen, I suppose (or so sayeth all of my friends).
"Aw, Ms. Dietrich, you were," he teases. "You know you are so fine, Ms. Dietrich."
Hmm. I wonder what I actually said right here. I'm not sure I know for sure. I was so flummoxed by this direct full-forced flirting, that I think what came out must have sounded a bit like,
"Uh..Manuel...no...stop.youshouldn't...uh, wow." Only more smashed together like I was eating peanut butter.
I'm still trying to stare at my purse, my desk, my computer, so I don't have to look at him, because I'm not sure I have a grasp on the situation at this point.
"Look, you're blushing Ms. Dietrich. You know your hot. I remember when I was in your class and sometimes I would see your thong. Yeah." He rolls this out of his mouth with all the practice of every man I've ever had approach me at a club.
And in the moment, I feel small. Young. Like he has the upper hand, because he is saying things I can't come up with a response to and looking at me like HE'S the MAN. Does that make sense? Not predatorily, but a shift of power. I feel somewhat like the incredible shrinking woman in the PSA commercial whose stature diminishes as he harasses her. Only, eventually she grew to normal size and said, "This is sexual harassment, and I'm NOT going to take it any more!" and I just shifted peanut butter around in my mouth with my tongue, hoping he would just go away.
Within about a minute, I've begun to pack my things to go, and I make up that I have to go to the office. And he leaves. No second hug. I think I'm running too fast.
And, see, my friends constantly tease me about being "the hot teacher" and laugh about how I'm going to be one of those teachers that runs away with a student. Heck, even my boyfriend jokes about it. It's always made me feel on the defensive (I mean, come on, they're joking about me being a pedophile). This boy is much bigger than me. But he is a boy. And I don't want to have sex with babies. And I'm finding it kind of hard to deal with one of them wanting me. Um. Ew.
I brought this up to another teacher, and his warning had more to do with my safety. He is bigger than me. It is not too far fetched (in theory) (unfortunately), that a teenage male student could try to force himself on his smaller female teacher. Now, I really don't believe this of him, but he was drinking, and I suppose it is something I must consider.
I'm not really sure what my next move is. I don't want to cut him off completely (I still think he needs a positive adult in his life who will try to advise him to stay on the right path), but I don't really know how to deal with this either.
Fin.