Back in Henry Clay elementary school, where I went for five years, I only remember a few things from that experience. I remember walking home down the alley on the last day of school. Before me laid three months of freedom, sleeping late and doing whatever. It was a feeling like no other. I cannot adequately put into words the glorious feeling of those first few days of summer vacation. I never understood that misguided handful of kids who actually rejoiced when school started again.

I remember a day when some kid named Louie made a wisecrack to our beloved teacher, Miss Ballard, and caused her to burst into tears and run out of the class. I don't think I was listening, because I don't know what he said, but the whole class was up in arms. I think this was in the fifth grade.

Anyhow, Louie tried to make excuses, but the masses weren't buying any of it. School let out before long and the entire class followed Louie home. They shouted a few things at him, but no one physically assaulted him, we just followed.

When he got home, his mother came out and told us all to go away. Louie would not be coming out. We finally dispersed and Louie was not in class for a couple of days.  Miss Ballard told us that she appreciated our loyalty, but it was all a misunderstanding and to forget it. So Louie was accepted back in class and that was that.

One day I incurred the wrath of half of the boys in class. We played baseball during recess and somebody had to be the umpire. On this day, it was me. One of the kids hit a long ball and he circled the bases and after he touched home, I called him out because he did not touch second base. His team was incensed. They argued and yelled at me, but I stood fast. They were mad at me for a week, at least, but I thought I was right and stood my ground.

I don't remember when I found out I was wrong, but it was far too late to rectify the problem. It is true that a batter can be called out if he misses a base, but only if a defensive player notices and calls it out to the umpire. My bad.

By far, the thing I remember the most from Henry Clay was when the teacher in the fourth grade was informing us about the dangers of the Amazon jungle. Nearing the climax of her story, she paused to ask Harry Polk, the fattest kid in the class, and maybe the whole school, to come to the front.

Good old Harry dutifully plodded up to the front of the class and stood there. The teacher then began to tell us about this huge snake that roamed the Amazon jungle called the Anaconda. It was a frightening beast that would coil around you and squeeze you to death and then eat you. Then she stunned the entire class when she added one last tidbit for us to ponder for years to come: "and imagine this, children, this snake was so monstrous that, "it could swallow Harry Polk whole!"

Immediately all eyes turned to the bemused Harry Polk standing there. There were a number of wide eyed "Oohs" and "Ahhs," along with a few giggles, while Harry good naturedly stood there in his sweater and suspenders as we all imagined a huge snake swallowing him whole.

Now here's the thing. Harry was not horribly obese, but he was pretty chubby for sure, and he really took no offense at this example and none of us kids ever teased him or made fun of him about it. It was just an observation. An example in a lesson.

His mother didn't come storming down to the school demanding that the teacher and the principal be fired. Harry didn't go into therapy. It was just a fact. This snake could swallow the fattest kid in school and now let's talk about the jaguar, who would eat you - fat or skinny. It was more interesting than Hansel and Gretel, those two naive German kids.

Besides, Harry Polk was a good kid. It would have been a shame if he had been swallowed whole.