A teacher’s kid, I was always a teacher’s favorite. Blonde hair and dressed sweetly, I had a  precocious personality I learned from watching musicals with my grandmother and conversing with adults from the time I could form sentences. My parents owned a bed and breakfast on a fishing lake, so I was in and out of the kitchen and game room telling jokes and playing checkers with grown men on a daily basis. I enjoyed the attention because it was my fifteen minutes of fame every day — the rest of the time was either alone or with my brother in and around the “barn,” the utility shop where we stored our boat, outdoor toys, and other items. 

At school, I adored my teachers, and they doted on me. I often wrote stories or drew comics for or about them. From advanced reading, to the “Gifted and Talented” program, to music, I was always part of smaller, select groups of students that received additional time with and attention from adults. Even into junior high and high school, teachers and coaches alike gave me a feeling of being special, and this was not necessarily a bad thing, and I am certainly not complaining. I loved it. It is a major part of who I am today. Many of those adults spent time, money, and effort on me and my friends that they did not have to, and for which they had no ulterior motives than to see us succeed.

I had a music teacher who recognized talent in me and spent countless hours giving me and my friends voice lessons, and even taking me to a Broadway musical at Fair Park in Dallas once. I have a core memory of one of my junior high coaches all but flying to me with her arms flung wide after winning the district mile relay. My 8^th grade English teacher sought me out for extra writing opportunities and competitions. Her feedback was invaluable and may have been the first time someone took my writing seriously. These women left an indelible impact that I will never forget, and I believe their reward is in Heaven.

Others of my adult influences, however, may not have been so innocent. A particular fisherman used to crack my knuckles everytime he saw me, and I can still taste the anxiety it gave me. I might have been five or six years old, and what was the purpose? To this day, I do not fully know, but it made him laugh. I still pop my fingers as a nervous habit. A male teacher used to hold hands with students and check in with them emotionally. He once gave me and three other girls a preferential chance to complete a project using a different model than the rest of the class, and then he gave us a failing grade for not following the rules. We did not even know we could contest it until another teacher stepped in on our behalf. A P.E. teacher used to stand on our stomachs as sixth graders to see how strong our abdominal muscles were.

These examples serve as a backdrop to this project both because they hopefully give some insight to my unique upbringing that explains my personality and pitfalls, but also because they illustrate on a more general level what many children experience — male or female, “gifted” or overlooked. Paradoxically, the special treatment I received both gave me the tools to excell in certain areas as well as trained me to be a people-pleaser and accept too-familiar adult grooming that should have been questioned, resisted, or reported. Because I am a female, I may have been more primed for socially acceptable forms of exploitation; I am also aware of the privilege I was afforded by my social status that may have protected me from the more horrendous physical violence done to the children on the margins of society. It is always the overlooked who are most at-risk for sexual abuse and exploitation, and when I think about the hours and tutelage I got that could have gone to a child who did not already have a supportive family, I am dubious of the motives of these and many other teachers, coaches, and mentors.

These events also serve to juxtapose what I will cover in the following blog — that is, the particular ways the Church has overlooked or justified adult-minor relationships. For all their insidiousness, none of these previous memories occurred within the context of religion or a community of believers. Had this been the case, as it is for many people, I may not have continued in the Church. As it was, my early experience of Christian adult influence was positive, and that was due to, I believe, my GA’s and children’s choir leaders being immune to any desire to be our friend. They were not out for personal gain — even the seemingly innocuous personal gain of cultivating a close relationship with us. We knew they cared about us as individuals, yes, but I never felt they wanted to single me out for exclusive privileges or to have extra time with me. Further, I never got the sense from them that their interest in me had anything to do with my cuteness, intelligence, or maturity level.

For other relationships, even in discipleship, I unfortunately cannot say the same.