The Slice: Glory days have lost their luster

Hey, kids!

You’ll probably hear a lot this weekend about how you will remember and cherish your school days forever. Don’t believe it.

I just gave the matter some thought. And here’s what I recall.

Kindergarten: My career as a visual artist peaked. Took naps.

First grade: My teacher got married in the middle of the year. My mom and I attended the wedding. Then my class got a new teacher.

Second grade: The kid next to me ate paste. Spent a lot of time wrangling with rubber overshoes.

Third grade: Asked to list the food groups, a classmate named Jamie included “game.” That cracked me up. I couldn’t stop laughing and had to go stand in the hall.

Fourth grade: Girls started acting weird.

Fifth grade: I gave an oral report on the state of Vermont. At my dad’s suggestion, I handed out samples of maple syrup, which proved to be a hit.

Sixth grade: I was a crossing guard. A girl I liked moved to New Mexico. And this kid who had flunked a time or two showed off his pubic hair in the boys’ restroom.

Seventh grade: A nice girl with diabetes conked out in class. Our teacher and I put arms around her and helped her to the nurse’s office. I had never felt more grown up.

Eighth grade: Something was happening to the girls. And we diagrammed sentences.

Ninth grade: I played sports. Made this cool salt-and-pepper shaker for Cindy Kenworthy in shop class.

Tenth grade: Driver’s ed teacher, Mr. McCarthy, looked at the newspaper while I was at the wheel. Once, when he read that I had scored a goal in a hockey game the night before, he clapped me on the shoulder so hard I almost ran off the road.

Eleventh grade: Got into an argument with English teacher about symbolism in novels. My contention: Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.

Twelfth grade: My girlfriend went to New Zealand as an exchange student. Mrs. Colburn wrote “You are capable of much more” on a lazy composition I turned in. I skipped graduation.

College freshman: I think I’ve already apologized to the appropriate parties. But if I did anything to offend you personally during that year, allow me to say I am sorry. I honestly don’t remember most of it.

College sophomore: Tried to sell a story to the National Lampoon. Cast my dorm-suitemates in a short coming-of-age film made for some media class.

College junior: Worked in dining hall bakery. Thought I was a poet. My masterpiece? “A Singer in the Woodsmoke.”

College senior: Started working part time at a daily newspaper where the staff called me “Rook.” Skipped graduation.

“Warm-up question: Are there any couples who can say that, though each person attended a different high school, both of their alma maters had the same sports nickname?

“Today’s Slice question: A Google search using “Spokane” and what other word produces the most interesting results?