Sex, Lies and a Meeting With the Principal

Sounds intriguing, doesn't it?

I teach 11-year-olds. They're in what I call the "second toddler phase," that time of life when they push, push, push at the boundaries to make sure those boundaries are still there. In any middle school, you will see the cooler-than-though 8th graders, the almost-normal 7th graders, and the whiny babies. Those are 6th graders.

Anyway, it often comes as a surprise when you overhear snippets of conversation from 6th grade girls. All of a sudden it is driven home just how young they really are, and how much they really, really want to fix that.

Today I overheard Rita (not her real name) talking to her friends at lunch time. They came to the choir room to drop off their backpacks as they do every day before going to the cafeteria for lunch. I was putting choir folders in order and only half paying attention to them when I heard Rita say, "Yeah...you know that 8th grade boy who wanted me to come over and lie on his bed with him?" The rest of that thought was lost in my shocked, foggy head.

I cleared my throat and said, "Uh. Ladies...I don't really need to hear that." They just giggled so I said, "I'm a mandated reporter. Do you know what that is?" Of course they didn't so I went on. "That means if I hear something, or you say something that concerns me, I have to report it." The girls just kind of laughed it off and left the room to get lunch.

What to do, what to do? I decided the best course of action was to ask my boss, Mrs. Principal, what she would do. I sought her out, repeated what I'd heard, and watched her eyes get really, really big.

"I dunno, it just sounded kind of...bad."

"Yeah! That's not a good thing at all." We agreed that Rita's parents should know about this, and that if an 8th grade boy is going around asking girls to lie on his bed with him, perhaps we as educators ought to be putting a stop to it.

She offered to talk to Rita and help me with this rather delicate situation. I said, "Yes, thank you," and went on my way. When class started, I sent Rita to the office as planned, saying only, "Mrs. Principal wants to talk to you."

She was gone a while.

When she came back, she had a pass, which she slapped down on the piano as she walked by me. Then she stood on the risers with her arms crossed and a glare on her face (her cheeks get very red when she's upset) until dismissal. This I had expected.

As everyone left the room, she marched up to the piano and said, "Mrs. Principal wants to talk to us both together."

"Okay, I'll be right there."

Rita waited for me, glaring, arms crossed--except when she was hugging her friends, who seemed to have figured out that Miss Cooper is a fink.

Such is the risk in teaching. Much as I want to be the "cool" teacher that the kids like and trust, I'm perfectly well aware that my actions are sometimes, inevitably, going to piss my students off. But I'm not in this career to be best friends with my kids. I have best friends who are adults, and that is enough for me, thank you. I do what I do because I want to enlighten, inform, inspire.

We had the meeting with Mrs. Principal, which was somewhat akward and even a little bit frustrating, as Rita changed her story to cover up what Mrs. Principal and I believe to be true--she fears she will get in trouble with her parents, or with us, if she tells the truth. More importantly, she will get in trouble in the all-important social circle if she goes against the grain.

Finally, all Mrs. Principal and I could do was call her parents and tell them about the discussion we had with Rita, and to tell her that we are not angry, she is not in trouble with us. Mrs. Principal said it perfectly: "We are two grown women who are very concerned for the wonderful young woman you are, and are going to be."

And its true. Rita is a nice little girl. And I say she's a little girl because she is--her body is maturing (hell, she's taller than me), but her mind is still eleven years old, and she is not emotionally equipped to handle the consequences of lying on a bed with a boy--especially if lying on the bed leads to kissing, or more.

Throughout the meeting, as we tried to coax the truth out of Rita, and as Mrs. Principal called home, I wanted to hug Rita, but her crossed arms and legs and tear-streaked face let me know, in no uncertain terms, that it would not be welcome. I have no doubt that in a week or two she will have forgotten, mostly, and will be back to her old self, chattering at me at lunchtime, asking if I have nail glue on me, giggling when I say things like, "No, I won't change the seating plan today. Yes, I know Johnny does stupid things. He's eleven. He's a boy. He's supposed to do stupid things from time to time."

Today I wanted to tell her about my 8th grade friend who was forced into a sexual relationship with a 16-year-old boy. I wanted to shock her into seeing that this path, should she choose to take it at such a young age, is fraught with danger, heartache and regret. I wanted to beg her to promise me that she would treat her body, soul and heart with respect and dignity, and allow herself to wait until she is emotionally equipped to deal with the consequences. Today is not that day. It couldn't possibly be that day.

But I couldn't. I could only tell her that I care about her and want her to be happy and healthy, and that is why I sought advice from Mrs. Principal. I could only nod my head in agreement when Mrs. Principal told her, "You're not in trouble, Rita. We just want to help you if you need it."

A little girl sat across from me, her face still slightly chubby from childhood, wearing the popular style of clothing favored by teenagers. Her defensive posture and tear-streaked cheeks told us a truth that she herself would not. Her silence defended the boy she thinks is cool, who must care about her.

Today I betrayed the trust of a little girl, but I did it because I care about her well-being--more than she can possibly understand. I have no doubt that my actions will take me down a notch or five in the eyes of Rita and her friends. That I am prepared to accept. As I stated above, I am not here to be their friends--I just want to see them grow up safely, and with minimal scarring. My part, for now, is done, and hopefully her parents will calmly and rationally discuss this with her. And keep an eagle eye on her.