Whom Can You Trust? It’s Becoming Less Clear

It’s one of those memories that should probably be relegated to a file labeled “Good Old Days.”

Reader Jeff Marlin recalls when he was a boy about the age of Richard Pena, the 15-year-old from El Cajon who ran off last week with his science teacher. Marlin and his kid brother had their own off-campus liaisons with a teacher 22 years ago, but they involved trips to Dodger games, not rendezvous at Las Vegas motels.

“My brother and I loved going to Dodger games, but neither of us could drive,” Marlin recalled. “So my mother would drive us to Dodger Stadium, sit in the car in the parking lot until the game ended, then drive us home. Then I came up with an idea. My math teacher and I hit it off real well ... and I knew he liked sports. So I asked him if, in exchange for us buying him a ticket to the game, he would drive us to and from Dodger Stadium.” The teacher talked to Marlin’s mother and the deal was made. “We ended up attending a bunch of games in the company of an adult who looked after us ... and one of the nicest men I’ve ever known,” Marlin said.

I doubt that Richard will feel the way Marlin does 20 years from now, when he looks back on his escapade with Tanya Hadden, the 33-year-old teacher who was arrested and charged with one count each of a lewd act upon a child and child stealing (she still faces charges in Las Vegas of kidnapping and “statutory sexual seduction”) after the two spent three days on the run in the wake of a police investigation over whether Hadden had furnished alcohol to minors. And I know Richard’s parents won’t feel the same sense of gratitude that Marlin’s mother felt, knowing her boys were in their teacher’s care. The Penas may still be asking the question parents seem unable to avoid these days, as we confront accounts of teachers having sex with students, priests molesting altar boys, police officers assaulting women in their patrol cars.

Priests, teachers, police officers ... whom can we trust anymore?

None of this is new, of course. Everyone can probably remember a teacher or two who was inappropriately chummy, whose behavior with one student or another kept the gossip mill running.

An old friend, reminiscing recently, confided that he smoked his first joint in junior high, courtesy of our seventh-grade algebra teacher. And I recall accepting a ride home in eighth grade from our glee club teacher, then having to scramble out of his car after he slid his arm along my seat and caressed my shoulder. As kids, we never told anyone. These were our teachers, after all, and we didn’t feel we had the right to complain. And perhaps we understood--as we should still today--that they were the exception, not the rule.

Now I hear stories from my daughters, of behavior by teachers that is, at least, inappropriate and, at times, profane. Teachers who touch too much, tell off-color jokes, seem to reserve special treatment for the best-looking girls ... or boys.

There are the sensational stories that catch our eye: The male and female Pasadena math teachers accused of having sex with a pair of girls for two years; the San Fernando Valley special-education teacher who had a month-long affair with a 16-year-old boy from her class; and the infamous Mary Kay LeTourneau, who is now in prison, after having two children with her sixth-grader paramour.

But there is little reliable data on how often teachers and students become sexually involved. Anecdotal evidence, however, suggests it happens far more than we’d like to admit.

In a survey of North Carolina high school students and graduates 10 years ago, a shocking 13.5% said they’d had sexual intercourse with a teacher. Other studies put the number much lower, suggesting that about 15% of teenage students are subjected to harassment or abuse--ranging from sexual acts to leering--by their teachers.

The most comprehensive study--a survey of 2,000 high school students by the American Assn. of University Women last year--found that 38% said they’d been sexually harassed by teachers or other school employees. That’s frighteningly high, but it’s five percentage points down from a similar survey in 1993.

That may be progress, but it’s not worth celebrating.

Hadden told a reporter from jail last week that she and Richard were not lovers, merely best friends, soul mates. He was an A-student in her class, they began hanging out together, and she started thinking “with my heart ... not my head,” she said.

Teachers who pursue inappropriate relationships with their students tend to be immature and self-centered, experts say. Some are using sex as a means of power and control; others crave attention and are trying to fill an emotional void. They may overidentify with their young students, and seek acceptance and approval so desperately that they ignore the boundary between grown-up and child.

I suppose that’s no surprise. Boundaries between children and adults are fuzzier everywhere these days. Moms dress like their daughters, dads sport earrings and blast rap CDs. Our children’s friends call us by our first names; our kids’ teachers and coaches use the kind of language my parents used to say belonged in the streets.

But the good news is our children are also becoming less malleable, less afraid of authority. They’re more willing to speak out, we’re more likely to believe them and everyone is more aware of the damage that can be done. Students abused by their teachers, just like kids abused by priests, suffer from a sense of betrayal and confusion that can haunt them for life.

We need to realize that it’s not enough to pass along to our kids the timeworn conventional advice: Don’t let anyone do anything to you that makes you feel uncomfortable. Many young people are vulnerable enough that contact with a teacher does not make them feel uncomfortable, but special, beautiful, a cut above ordinary classmates. Better to tell them that it’s just plain wrong. That no matter how good it makes you feel, some boundaries are not meant to be crossed. That your teacher is not your friend, your lover or your soul mate. That an A in science does not a romance make.

Sandy Banks’ column is published on Tuesdays and Sundays. Her e-mail address is sandy.banks@la times.com.