Mr. G, Big Man on Playground by Deb Lisa

The first “book” I ever wrote was a serial romance starring Mr. Gemeinhart, our science teacher, read breathlessly to an enraptured crowd of giggling fourth-grade girls under the slide at recess.

Every girl in school had a major crush on Mr. Gemeinhart, and we discussed him endlessly at lunch over twinkies and apple slices — his necktie selections, his sparkling blue eyes, whether or not he was cooler than “The Fonz”, pondering evidence he might be a good dancer. We speculated on his romantic status, each of us secretly hoping he might just wait it out for another ten or fifteen years and choose one among us.

He was a god among men: he drove a red mustang convertible and knew the meaning of the word “hypothesis.” Every afternoon I read the continuing saga to a dozen girls who gathered near the tire swing, and every evening after school, I wrote another sizzling chapter:

Mr. Gemeinhart Saves Students in a Terrible Blizzard!
Mr. Gemeinhart Shares His Peanut Butter Cookies With Lydia!
Mr. Gemeinhart Tells Stupid Jerk Bobby Bushnell That Julie is the Most Beautiful Girl in School!
IN FRONT OF EVERYONE!

Most of the storylines contained at least a few declarations of undying love for myself, or my classmates. And in my fictional version of events, armloads of roses, Rice Krispie Treats and showing up at field day on a white stallion were a regular occurences.

None of us could ever imagine adoring anyone as much as we loved Mr. G, but we grew older, moved on to middle school and fell for boys our own age.

In my freshman year of college, I visited my old elementary school for a class project, and there he was: Mr. G.

A little older, not quite as handsome, but charming as ever. And a whole new batch of fourth-grade girls smiled at him dreamily from their desks.

Did you ever have a crush on your teacher?

The following two tabs change content below.
Lisa Daily is a real-life TV dating expert on Daytime. She's a syndicated relationships columnist, a popular media guest seen everywhere from MTV to the New York Times, and the author of the bestselling dating advice book, Stop Getting Dumped! : All you need to know to make men fall madly in love with you and marry "The One" in 3 years or less. Visit lisa online at www.lisadaily.com

14 thoughts on “Mr. G, Big Man on Playground by Deb Lisa

  1. Great post, Lisa. I can just imagine you on the playground with your stories. I don’t think I ever had that kind of crush on a teacher, at least not as a kid, but I almost wish I had!

  2. Love it! What an endearing and precocious child you must have been!

    I definitely had a crush on one of my teachers, but I’m not saying who. hehe

  3. Thanks for the sweet comments, both of you. (I’m not so sure about endearing and precocious, but thanks for the kindness.)

    As an adult, I’ve certainly done a few readings that didn’t draw nearly the crowd…

    Lisa

  4. Schoolgirl crushes on our teachers didn’t happen. There was my chemistry teacher with the very bushy mustache, who sat up front with a thermos full of whiskey and gave A’s to the girls with short skirts. I sat in the back of THAT class. My bio teacher with the handlebar mustache–a little too Simon LeGree for me (though nice guy). I had a jr high english teacher we’ve all heard is now doing time in the slammer for pedophilia…Well, we did have this other GORGEOUS english teacher who did a stint as assistant principal but then rumors flew that he was taking up with another English teacher, so we were sorely disappointed in his taste and lack of ethics (he was married and had all these kids!). Now schoolgirl crushes on the boys at school…that’s another story altogether!

  5. I never had a Mr. G. The only male teacher I had was in fifth grade and he had really bad skin and stinky breath. I laughed out loud that the science teacher knew the meaning of “hypothesis.” You’re always funny, Lisa. Thanks!

  6. WordPress must be censoring comments today by insisting I’ve already written the following:

    As this web page loaded, I cast a brief glance at the post’s title and read: “Mr.’Big’ on the Playground.” For that second, Lisa, you were totally precocious!!! LOL

  7. Larramie — you crack me up.

    Gail & Jenny– thanks, and I’m sorry for your pain…

    Mia — I’m sure my mother has a them stashed somewhere in the garage, right next to the plant fertilizer and the ski pants.

    Lisa

  8. What a hoot! Thanks for sharing your crush with us. I’m wondering if Mr. G. had any idea that he was the leading man in your delightful stories??? I’m sure all of the girls in your class still remember him fondly–he sounds like a sweetie, and definitely soooooo much better than the whiskey swilling, mustachioed, stinky breath teachers many experienced!

    P.S. The white stallion on field day was a nice touch!!

  9. What a cute story, Lisa!

    I had crushes on almost all of my male teachers; at least the ones under 40. I was a particularly boycrazy girl, but preferred the affections of older men to those from boys my age. The English/Creative Writing teacher who was published and let us write from the burger joint next door to the school (as long as we turned something in). The science teacher who taught like he was delivering stand-up routines. The Social Sciences teacher who let you call him by his first name and looked the other way when you had your notebook open during tests.

    Ahh, I remember them well and fondly.

    And yes, I did have a full time father in my life, in case you were wondering.

  10. As I can best recall all of my teachers mean crankly women whose arms flapped when they wrote on the chalkboard. Is it any wonder I hated school?

    Where the heck did you grow up?

    Maybe if I had a teacher like Mr. G, I would have done better in school. Dang and to think a career in acedemia couldhave been salvaged had I only encoutnered one hottie teacher.

  11. Oh boy did I ever have a teacher crush. Mr. Weatherford. Doesn’t his name even sound dreamy? I thought he looked like Superman. He was incredibly manly with big muscular arms and a killer smile. I’m sure if I saw him today ten years later he would look like a faint shell of what I remember. But the fact that I still smile when I think about him is so funny to me. : )

Comments are closed.