I had one of those in 1972, my English teacher. A miniskirted Gloria Steinem style feminist with the big glasses. She even came to my basketball games and cheered for exactly one player-me. The guys gave me so much crap, I did everything possible to discourage her and I eventually made her hate my guts. In retrospect, I should have talked to my father, but in those days, that was an admission you weren’t ready to handle your own business.
1) The guys were jealous.
2) You really didn’t want to talk with your dad.
“2) You really didn’t want to talk with your dad.”
You are probably right. My dad was an alley cat. D
3) Dad had the hots for teach too.