Oh look, another female teacher has fallen in love with a fifth-grader. It must have been the student’s cool 50 Cent Trapper Keeper or the romantic way his acne glistened in the sun.
How does anyone fall in love with a teenage boy?
When I was that age, I was all elbows and kneecaps — like now, only ganglier, and with enormous front teeth that had no business in a little kid’s mouth.
When I see these female teachers falling in love with their high school- and middle school-age students, I am baffled. There have been a couple in the past few years near where I live.
So as I watched this teacher on the news, I wanted to know, short of the Axe effect, how could this have happened? This teacher is an attractive lady — for a felon, anyway. Let’s just say she won’t have any trouble making “friends” in the slammer.
I can sympathize with that student, though. When I was in fourth grade, I tried desperately for nine solid months to get my teacher — we’ll call her Mrs. Amazing — to go out with me. But she said no. That’s what adults did back then, even if their students did “really really really with sugar on top” want to marry them.
Now I think I should’ve tried harder to lasso Mrs. Amazing. I shouldn’t have wasted so many mushy love notes on those dumb 10-year-old girls. Just think, Mrs. Amazing could’ve driven me on dates to the zoo, taught me how to shave, gone on romantic candlelight PB&J dinners at the cafeteria … the possibilities are endless. I would’ve been the coolest kid at school, or at least the only one with a sugarmama.
So I’m wondering what is wrong with these female teachers — and most importantly, if it’s contagious.
My wife teaches sixth grade. She said she can’t even comprehend what these teachers see in their students. But what if some sixth-grade Romeo swipes her from under my feet?
Should I be jealous now when she gives out star stickers on the little boys’ spelling tests? Maybe I should wait at the bike racks and make some threats: “Stay away from your teacher; she’s mine,” I’ll yell. They’ll laugh or call me poopy pants, but they’ll know there are plenty of other teachers in the sea, so it probably wouldn’t be a big deal.
I’ll have to tailgate the little “suspects” as they ride their BMX bikes home. Maybe I’ll hire a private investigator posing as a reading tutor. He’ll change sweaters and loafers several times each day for secrecy.
Mr. Rogers — will you be my detective?
Maybe I’m just jealous because not all teenage boys are as goofy as I was.
I did end up with another Mrs. Amazing, though, one a little closer to my own age. Must be all those elbows and kneecaps that she just couldn’t resist..