Mrs. Sculley
Did you ever have a crush on one of your teachers when you were in Junior High or High School? Of course you did. We all did. I am no exception to that rule.
But here is an important distinction between teen crushes on teachers and adult crushes: the former, for me, were not about sex (at least not until later when they were focused on guys). Rather, the crushes I had as a young teen were towards female teachers, and they were about wanting what they had, which I will get to later. My crushes emerged from a desire to feel differently about myself than I actually felt at the time, to be a different version of myself other that the one I was.
The first crush I remember was on a history teacher in Junior High--I can't remember her name but maybe it was Mrs. Hunt? Anyway, she was like a 70's version of Miranda Hobbs from Sex and the City (the good version, not the terrible new series that is unwatchable). Mrs. Hunt, as I will call her, used to wear beige overcoats. At least that is the detail I most remember, and I used to think these overcoats were out of this world. Who wears overcoats in Southern California? Mrs. Hunt did, that's who. She also had a slight overbite that she carried with confidence, and appeared to love the subject that she taught.
I remember how I was intent on becoming her 'teacher's aide' the year after I had her for History, for the simple reason that I needed to absorb more of her vibe, and that is exactly what I accomplished. It was a heady experience, I must confess, because her decision to choose me out of all the applicants (were there others?) confirmed my status as "special" in her eyes. It was, in my adolescent mind, a validation, a recognition, and a knowing wink all at once. She got me, I thought to myself, and suddenly I no longer felt like a freak. And I realized that if you want to wear a beige overcoat in Southern California, as a Jr. High School history teacher, you can absolutely do that as long as you goddamn own it.
But my experience with Mrs. Hunt, heady as it was, did not fully prepare me to be a student in the class of Mrs. Sculley (I do remember her name).
Mrs. Sculley taught the Core class I was in, meaning it was a class for "exceptional" students, and my time there is something I will always appreciate and remember. If you want my opinion, all students should have access to core classes (because all students are exceptional), or all classes should be structured like core classes, because they offered students an experiential, rather than a didactic, educational environment. Experience is one of our greatest teachers, a concept I use even today as a couples therapist, when I coach my clients to "feel" their partner's hurt as a way to better understand, empathize, connect, and ultimately repair a breach.
It is not enough just to know something--we have to feel it.
Mrs. Sculley led us through a lesson on the French Revolution, a rather inspiring time in history when citizens rose up against oppressive systems. But instead of reading about it, we got to re-enact it from the start. Oh, how cocky we were as 14 year-olds! We truly believed that we would make better choices than they did during that time--that we were less brutal, more intelligent, and possessed greater reasoning skills. Even if that were true, we were about to learn that at times all of that just does not matter--particularly when we sense a threat to our safety and security or the safety and security of our family (or our stuff).
In the course of the re-enactment, we gleefully marched through our re-enacted history, determined to have a better outcome than the actual revolution did. But on the final day of the exercise, we somehow all got caught up in a power struggle that took on a life of its own, resulting in a "bloodbath" of guillotine executions at the front of the classroom. (Mrs. Sculley had actually brought in a miniature toy guillotine that we would use every time an "execution" was ordered.)
I remember the stunned silence at the end of that class, when I looked around and realized that nobody had survived the frenzy--what had we done? I will tell you what we had done--we had learned. We learned, through our re-enactment experience, that nobody is immune from terrible and reactionary behavior, and that nobody is free from the allure of power. What we learned is that if you aren't mindful of your choices, heads may fall, including yours. I have never forgotten this class.
And what made it all happen was Mrs. Sculley, who, at the end of the lesson, stood in the front of the class with a sly yet compassionate grin on her face, telling us with her expression that our intelligence alone could not save us from savagery.
And she did it all while wearing tight slacks.
***
What did I want from these teachers?
I mention Mrs. Sculley's slacks because they are important to this story: a story about crushes. She was an attractive woman--young for a teacher, blond, curvy, smart. She was not representative of the instructors in school at the time, and it was provocative that she did not subdue her attractiveness. She didn't flaunt it either, she merely wore clothes that fit well. But the slacks stood out to me in a school where most of the female teachers wore dresses all the time.
I was not used to women who confidently owned their appeal and expressed it while still inspiring respect. I was raised seeing women either conform to patriarchal expectations of feminine expression, or completely reject the same to either disappear or be in your face. I had little exposure to women whose sway of being in the world was neither an embrace nor a rejection of these norms--but instead a personal interpretation that communicated confidence and power (this was years before Madonna). No wonder I had a crush. She had what I wanted for myself, and showed that you could look great while having it.
True confidence is not angry. It is not a reaction, it is a response. True confidence exists without any need to change others--it works instead through influence, which is why it is so powerful. It is power with, not power over. True confidence lifts others up instead of hovering above. True confidence celebrates others more than the self. True confidence comes from joy rather than fear. True confidence is the ultimate rebellious act because it dismantles dominance and shared power.
Mrs. Hunt and Mrs. Sculley, both in their own ways, inspired me to explore what it meant to me to be attracted to boys and beautiful things in a world where boys were not suppose to be attracted to those things. They presented an example of how to embrace power without being seen as a threat, whether it was wearing an overcoat in Southern California or wearing tight slacks instead of a dress; they showed how to own your sensuality without being punished for it; how to combine intelligence with kindness, compassion, and a wink. They may not have intended it this way, but their expressionistic choices felt as though they were sending me a direct message, which was this: You can do this.
***
At the end of the school year, there was a parent-teacher evening where the parents got to meet the teachers and hear feedback on their children. I am not sure if these events even happen anymore in schools, but back then parents were still "held responsible" for their children's school performance and behavior. I remember telling my mother that she could find Mrs. Sculley by looking for the one wearing tight slacks. I was trying to be helpful, you know.
Mom went to the parent-teacher evening, and when she came back I asked her if she talked with Mrs. Sculley. "Yes, I did," she laughed, "but it took me awhile to find her, because she was not wearing slacks. She wore a dress!"
The school year went on and eventually the parent-teacher evening faded into the background.
At the end of the school year, teachers would give out grades, and they often wrote comments in the margins of the grade sheet like "It was wonderful having you in class!", and "Good work this year!". I remember Mrs. Sculley handing out grades in class, and when she got to my desk she looked down with a sly grin, then handed me my sheet before moving on to the next student.
When I looked at the grade (which was an "A", of course), I noticed she had written a comment in the margin. It read: Keep your eyes where they belong!
Busted.
I have a physical memory of how hot my face got in that moment, even though she was now behind me and could not see it. But I also recall feeling that she appreciated the attention, stemming as it was from my innocence at the time, and my ability to notice things. I think she was letting me know, with a bit of humor, that what I told my mother about her was okay. I cannot imagine what it was like in the early 1970's to teach a class of too-smart-for-their-own-good teenagers. But for me, Mrs. Sculley could not have been a more perfect guide into a world that I would soon learn had to be played while it was also playing me.
She showed us how it was not enough to be too-smart-for-our-own-good, because that would not prevent us from getting our heads chopped off in a guillotine. She taught us that actions have consequences, and that intention matters. She let me know that you can be yourself without necessarily upsetting others, all while expanding the limits of what is acceptable. And most importantly, she let me know, with gentle encouragement, that I had something to offer. Mrs. Sculley let me know that she knew who I was, and that she approved. In fact, this is what she celebrated in all of us in that Core classroom. I suspect she knew exactly what she was up to.
***
I wish I knew if she were still alive or not--though if she is, I doubt she is still teaching, but sometimes we don't need to have our memories updated, do we. Sometimes our limited experience with another person is all the time we need with them; our short time with them can be as impactful as a lifetime with our partner. It is not the amount of time with another that determines the value of the interaction, it is the quality of the time spent, the attention paid to one another, and the intention we have regarding the possible outcomes.
I would hope that teenagers today are being taught by their own Mrs. Sculleys, because sometimes all a kid needs to feel okay is a knowing smile from someone who has some influence over them. That is the role that adults have historically had in young people's lives, isn't it? They guide, they soothe, they encourage, they caution, they challenge, they support, and they love. Mrs. Sculley was a classic mentor to me and many other students at school, and she set an example I intend to emulate in my own way as I shift into being an "elder". Because you just never know when the impact you have on someone will be remembered and appreciated nearly 50 years later. I want to have that sort of impact, I want to be that sort of man.
And I intend to do it while wearing well-fitting slacks.
