Knocked Up

18 years old, full of spring fever, college fever, senioritis, probably all hickeyed up, I received the call from Ms. (let’s call her) “Smith”: “Annie, can I see you for a moment.” I loved her and hated her. She was so intense, smart, academic and opinionated, though she herself told us on the first day of class, “Opinions are like assholes [dramatic pause, eye contact, and circulation of the room]… Everybody has one.” She had a white Cruella DeVil like stripe of hair running from her forehead through the length of her bristly hair.

What could she want to discuss with me? Foucault? Feminist theory? Said’s criticism in Orientalism? It was kind of exciting to get called aside by Ms. Smith. “Can I ask you a question?” she asked me. Of course. Anything.

“Are you pregnant?”

Whoa. That one certainly caught my attention. “No,” I giggled nervously. “Do I look like it?” I smoothed down my shirt. I still remember what I was wearing that day. In fact, I think if I think hard, I could remember every outfit from every important memory of my life. But probably I remember this outfit, a simple tanktop and jeans, because I decided that day that it made me look horribly fat and I would never wear it again.

Ms. Smith went on to explain, without apology, that she merely asked because of some other student she’d had, smart, full of potential, who also had a tendency to embarrass others with her and her boyfriend’s hallway displays of affection. That student got knocked up and didn’t go to college, I guess.

“Oh no,” I reassured her. “I’m on the pill.” I said it without thinking. Instinctually, I trusted her. She was an adult, a representative of the school, my teacher, and she did not communicate with my parents.

“Great!” Smith breathed a sigh of relief. “It makes your period so regular doesn’t it, and it clears up your skin—at least it did mine.”

I smiled uncomfortably, happy she wondered, happy she cared, happy she noticed my life.

****

In retrospect, I wonder at this memory. What gave Ms. Smith the cojones to ask me this intrusive, personal question out of nowhere? Was the question really warranted? Did Ms. Smith think it over carefully before confronting me? If she weighed the options, how did she reach her decision?

I know that I now am many students’ Ms. Smith. I challenge my students intellectually and sometimes I don’t feel like I’m very nice about it, yet they mostly seem to trust me unquestioningly. Ricardo is so relieved to unburden to me the stress of having a 12 month old daughter and another one on the way, simply because I take the time to ask him, “How are you?” Karina told me before writing her own autobiographical short story, “I think I feel comfortable writing something a bit more edgy, risky, and personal.” Indeed she did, writing me the story of discovering she was pregnant while locked in Juvenile Hall. She was transported involuntarily to an abortion clinic where she compliantly signed the paperwork and submitted herself for the procedure. Karen showed me her hickeys, given her by my other student, Cole, and told me about the techniques she’d been using to try and get rid of them. “I’m so sick of wearing scarves!” she said.

What is my responsibility in these cases? Where do I draw the line about what students may share with me? Is there even a line? Perhaps my job is really to mentor kids through these rocky stages of adolescence and sexual experimentation, while also doing my best to teach them a little something about writing along the way. I don’t think I would ever ask a student point blank if he or she was pregnant, though. To me, that seems inappropriate, potentially offensive.

I did have a student last quarter who I suspected was pregnant, but I never considered asking her straight out. That seemed rude and random, grounds for a lawsuit by her parents. But the thought of Mary dealing with this big, real-life stuff as her failure to complete homework assignments caused her grades to dip lower and lower made me wonder a couple of things. What is the real value and purpose behind every piece of work students do for my class? What exactly is my job, and what are my responsibilities toward others, both as a teacher and as a human being?