I’m sure we all remember certain portions of our past taking place in elementary schools. Weird stories that mean the world to us, but when we recount stories to other people, they seem trivial and inconsequential. The problem is you don’t realize the significance of these experiences until you have a chance to revisit the origin of many of those experiences.
I was in my home town recently and was invited to visit my old elementary school. Being fond of nostalgia and receiving any positive attention whatsoever, I gleefully accepted the invitation. So, accompanied by my old pal Bennie (you know him…the guy with face?), we headed to the location of the school that taught me everything I know about everything. This is not simply hyperbole…I literally have a mind that is full of knowledge solely acquired from elementary school. Just ask my wife about my eating habits!
So Bennie walks with me into the school and takes me to the Principals office to check in. Oh yes, I remember the way to the Principal’s office far too well. But I begin to notice that the massive glass trophy case that was present when I attended school here has shrunken by at least fifty percent. I’m a bit shocked and simply shrug it off and walk into the Principals office.
The Principal has changed from what I remember of him it seems. He’s gained about forty pounds, completely lost his hair, become African American and changed his name. That having been said, however, he still has the menacing scowl that he had back from when I would, wrongly mind you, be accused of all manner of mischief. He grunts something about giving a tour and guides us out into the hall, which has shrunken terribly, which I can only assume has been a result of decreased funding.
We make our way to my old kindergarten room, and I discover that all the chairs have shrunken by two hundred percent from back in my day and I am unable to lower my posterior down to the point where I can sit in one. I am introduced to the teacher, who is a young and attractive twenty-five year old woman named Miss Sands and I find out that my original kindergarten teacher, Miss Ripurgutsout (at least that’s what I remember her name was, has died, which resulted in a marked decrease in her productivity and, thus, has been replaced.
Leaving the classroom, we visit the old gymnasium and find it to have decreased by several hundred percent. The Ropes of Male Awkwardness are still there, but there is no sign of dodge balls, which I remember were stained with the blood of students uncoordinated enough to catch the ball thrown at several thousands of miles an hour. The blue mats are no longer thirty feet tall, but stacked to a measly three feet in height.
We conclude our visit by traveling out to the playground, which has been completely destroyed and replaced with a rubber covered monstrosity, which I’ve covered in another article entitled “State of Decay…Playgrounds”, and I am disheartened to know that the children of today will not have such treasured memories as a first wedgie in a lunchroom the size of a modern day food court or playing in a gymnasium the size of the Colosseum in Rome. Ah, back then we were specifically trained to…
Be Good or Be Good At It!
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