The microscopes were strategically placed on the counter just below the window sill of Mr. Horne’s fifth grade classroom. The windows looked out on the parking lot and playground utilized by the whole elementary school. Lucky for me and a friend, our science class coincided with the kindergarten class recess.

It was spring. The weather was warm and the windows open. We knew when the kindergarten class would bust through the double doors and hit the playground. We made our way to the microscopes. Stating the obvious, microscopes are not telescopes. But we weren’t really seeking to dissect any molecular cells between slides.

Mr. Horne was a tall lanky teacher with a mustache and unfortunate premature hair loss that was trying hard to cling to the sides of his head. He reminded me of Mr. Kotter on the seventies sitcom, Welcome Back Kotter. Apparently Mr. Horne was not oblivious to our early interest in microbiology. A young, attractive, student teacher had taken up a student teacher position and daily herded the tikes onto the playground. He noticed what we noticed as our eyes scanned the kickball field.

In those days many of my male compadres had Farrah Fawcett posters plastered on their bedroom walls. I was far too timid to attempt such blatant adolescent publicity. Plus, Olivia Newton John was far more intriguing to me than Farrah. This young blond educator was more Newton John than Fawcett.

I gulped when Mr. Horne startled us out of our staring stuper and asked the question: “Would you two boys help me with something?” We left our scientific post and obliged. He walked us out of the classroom. The assumption was that he needed help carrying something from another classroom or rolling the cart donning the film strip projector. He used us often for such tasks. We were surprised when he led us out to the playground. “Miss Jennings, I wanted you to meet two of my students. They are your biggest admirers.” The sly smirk on Mr. Horne’s face was only matched by the embarrassment on ours.

It took years for me to realize that we were his scapegoats for meeting our Olivia.