Eleven years ago, I started my teaching career in Murray, Utah. I was younger, thinner, and cuter than I am now, and since I’ve always looked younger than I actually am, most of my students thought I was 22.
That’s not much older than 17.
And I suppose, in an attempt to get under my skin, or on my nerves, one student took to asking me almost daily when we were going on our date.
I would usually roll my eyes or tell him “never,” and after he wrote “Welcome to Mrs. Harvey Smith’s (not his real name) classroom,” I had a terse, one-sided conversation with him about appropriate ways to address teachers.
I had no idea I could have had him suspended.
