The documentation surrounding this event is somewhat sparse. Apparently a substitute teacher was eves-dropping in on a private conversation between two 4th graders when one boy commented that he thought his teacher was "cute." The teacher then reported the incident to the principal. Through an interpretation of district’s policy, this comment was deemed as a case of SEXUAL HARASSMENT.
Just like at the beginning Herman Cain incident, we have a "he said...she said" situation with the school district refusing to provide complete details. Viewing the video clip, I find it very hard to believe that this young man had any illicit motives behind his private comment. Maybe his school transcript will show that he is a serial offender, with inappropriate behavior dating back to kindergarten. Or maybe he has been leaving apples on the teacher's desk in an attempt to woo her.
Compare that with what took take place in 1965 when I was a 2nd grader at Ridgeview Elementary School. I wonder what the reaction would be in today's' over-reactive environment to my youthful indiscretion 45 years ago.
First, let me identify the key players and then I will describe what happened.
Key Participants: Miss P ( top left ) Eddie B (top 4th from right) Bruce L (top 2nd from right)
Bret T (3rd row 2nd from left) Me (Bottom row 2nd from left.
The four of us boys lived fairly close to one another: Eddie B. was one block to the west of me; Bruce L & Mark T were next door neighbors one block to the east. We did all the things that little boys did in the mid-sixties. Mostly we played pick-up football (two on two) and baseball games (complete with imaginary "ghost runners"). We were too short for even the lower hoops, so basketball wasn't our game. We rode bikes, had dirt clod fights, played kick-the-can and German Spotlight. We just played together all summer long
I am sure the four of us were quite excited to be in the same class when school started back up after Labor Day. Plus, we had a teacher that didn't look like somebody’s grandmother. I guess she was our Kelly Ripa. Anyway, on the day in question, we boys were walking in the hallway with Miss P leading the way. Maybe we were coming in from recess or back from lunch, I don't remember exactly which. I just know that Miss P was walking about ten feet in front of us and we were yucking it up and laughing while following behind her. Even though we were seven year-old boys, we were still males, so naturally our eyes began watching her hips gently sway back and forth as she led us through the hallway. Not one to pass up on the opportunity to interject some humor into a situation, I began whispering "boom-cheche boom-cheche boom" in cadence with her graceful display.
Now, when I was growing up, one of the nicknames my sisters used for me was "Boomer" because my voice tended to be on the loud side. And my sisters were right because all of a sudden Miss P. stopped dead in her tracks, spun around and marched directly to me. She informed me that she was taking me to see Mr. B, our principal. She then proceeded to pinch my earlobe between her thumb and index finger and pull me down the hall towards the office. Arriving at the office, she placed me on "the bench" which rested directly across from his office door. Teachers would often use "the bench" as a mild form of punishment- it wasn't as bad as being sent directly to see the principal, but there was a pretty good chance that the principal would see you sitting there and come over to talk with you.
Leaving me on the bench, Miss P. went into the office to explain the situation to the principal. They came out of the office together. Miss P. returned to her class room and Mr. B., who was a rather rotund man with a black goatee, came over to "the bench." Glaring down on me from above, he told me to step into his office.
He motioned me in, and then closed the door behind us. The metallic sound of the door clicking shut turned the blood in my veins to ice and carved out an empty void in the pit of my stomach. I guess it was the fear of the great unknown that had a hold of me. Would it be detention, no recess for a week, a permanent blotch on my academic records, or, the dreaded note home to my parents? It ways my first trip there and I had no idea what to expect. Looking back, I can’t remember what the punishment was so it must not have been the note home routine because I’m sure that would have whipped up huge firestorm on the home front.
I've only experienced that empty coldness twice since that day over 45 years ago. Once, as I sat in my neurologist’s office awaiting clarification on the "abnormalities" that appeared in a MRI image of my brain, and again, when I read the severance notification letter that had been handed to me after 23 years of service with a major brokerage firm. In the first instance, I was sure that I had an inoperable brain tumor; and in the second case, I worried about how I would support my family and send my children to college. It wasn’t cancer, just MS. And the kids?? The eldest just graduated college, the middle child is in her 2nd year at the university and the youngest is a high school senior, busily filling out those college aps.
Once again we see proof that there is truth in those oft repeated proverbs. As my father often recited, “the more things change, the more they remain the same.”
In this case: The Change- the episode was well contained. (so well contained in fact, that this may be the first time that those close to me are hearing of this.) And what about that pinching of the ear-lobes? Can you imagine what happening today?
The Same- School age boys still crush on their teachers.
