Thanks, Mr. Brophy

Inappropriate
behavior is part of the basic teen job description.

Here's what teenagers do:

They flirt.

They flaunt.

They talk dirty.

They get starry-eyed crushes on adults.

They test-drive their sexuality.

Here's what grown-ups do:

We ignore all of the above.

Because we know that it's the job of adolescents to bumble,
stumble, and generally act like pathological nitwits on their path to adult
sexuality.

That's why I am livid at some of the conservative
commentators who leeringly reported on the sexual hijinks of Congressman
Foley's underage correspondents and blamed them for leading a good legislator
astray. Of course some of these kids bragged about their sexual exploits (real
or fictional) and indulged in on-line dirty talk. That kind of inappropriate
behavior is part of the basic teen job description — and it's the job of all
responsible adults to respond with a withering glance, a vexed sigh, and a
weary "Kids! Cut it out, already."

When sexual predators complain that their child victims were
behaving seductively, they are saying only what's true – that children's
behavior often looks exactly like adult seductiveness. And sometimes, teenagers
really do try to seduce adults — to gain favors, win power, or even to express
a real (if misplaced) sexual attraction.  That's why we have laws that restrict adult behavior toward
children – because we understand how vulnerable they are, even when they don't.

In listening to various commentators detail the pages'
naughty behavior as a way to blame them for Foley's own criminal actions, I
blushed painfully at the memory of my own high school misdemeanors. In
particular, I recalled my Smithsonian-sized crush on my freshman English
teacher, Mr. Brophy — a tall, lanky, unmarried 23-year-old with long, curly
red hair and really cool glasses. He was smart and funny, he read a lot, and he
liked me.

I thought he was awesome. And I pursued him relentlessly
throughout high school. I talked politics with him in the halls between
classes, dawdled in his class after school, even (oh dear heaven) showed up at
his house on weekends and summer afternoons, wearing plunging halter tops and
very short shorts.

He — God bless him — never seemed to notice. He looked at
me and saw not Lolita but a child, a student, an uncertain teenager who was
struggling toward adulthood. He understood his role as a special adult in my
life, and he behaved the way responsible grown-ups are supposed to behave
toward the children in their care.

Our relationship ended the way adult-child relationships
usually end — I grew up, graduated, went to college and moved away, and he kept
on teaching and inspiring generations of students who thought he was way cool.

But, in fairness to those conservative commentators, truth
compels me to admit that in one profound way, that adult teacher did take base advantage
of my youth and inexperience: During those long after-school chats about life
and politics, he turned me from a cradle Republican to an adult Democrat.

Thanks, Mr. Brophy.