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My high school glory days as a Chinese gymnast

That’s me, far right, throwing my hat in the air like I just don’t care.

There I stood in the middle of a stranger’s living room, 24 hours removed from my high school graduation, bear-hugging one of my best friends as we cried for an hour like a couple of 4-year-olds who were just informed that Santa Claus was dead and birthdays were canceled for life.

In our defense, many of the tears were brought on by the incredible feat we achieved that night. Four friends and I joined The Century Club, which requires drinking 100 shots of beer in 100 minutes. That equates to one beer every 12.5 minutes and, yes, it was way more difficult to finish than high school.

Naturally, the alcohol opened the floodgates of sadness that built up over the last couple weeks of high school. The night ended with one friend wearing a toddler’s pair of Mickey Mouse undies on his head and four people puking everywhere, and often not in a toilet.

It all signified the same thing: Life after high school was going to be messy, smelly and hard to clean up. Oh, how true it was.

These memories — not just the ones of me acting like a stupid teenager — come roaring back every May, and I yearn for a return to high school. I wasn’t particularly good at anything or popular, but nothing can match the carefree nature of those life-altering four years, when my biggest concern was getting to the cafeteria before the pizza was all gone.

Without question, those were the glory days.

Me and my compatriots at the Olympics.

I started at Sahuaro High School in Tucson standing 5 feet tall and weighing a robust 72 pounds. (I was equal in size to a female Chinese gymnast, literally, but my English was much better.) I knew zero people on the first day and probably ate lunch alone because no one wanted to sit next to the fourth grader who wandered away from recess and onto a high school campus.

It was an ignominious start, but Sahuaro quickly established itself as The Best Place on Earth. I loved every day there, even the day my Spanish teacher told me to pull up my pants and “stop acting like a punk mama’s boy.”

I expect a lot of great things from the rest of my life, but nothing will compare to the pure enjoyment of my high school years. They were filled with unforgettable moments — some bizarre, some funny, some embarrassing, some all of the above. For instance…

• I met my wife in high school. She was a braces-wearing twerp of a freshman, and I was a senior, disinterested in the cute little brace-face who stared at me as she walked past my classroom and into hers. I decided to prank call her one night, and she quickly found out it was me. I denied it anyway.

(She got the last laugh, though. Four years later — once she was all grown up and I convinced her to break up with her boyfriend to start dating me — she puked all over my bed. But then I accidentally dropped her into the puke face-first, so maybe I win.)

• I liked to hang out on campus after school, and one afternoon I was with a friend and his girlfriend. They went to another part of campus and returned 10 minutes later. That night I learned he lost his virginity on the floor of the girls bathroom.

• I inadvertently started a fistfight between two classmates junior year by asking Guy 1 when his girlfriend dumped him for Guy 2. Guy 1 said I was mistaken, but then I regretfully informed him I saw Guy 2 kissing his girlfriend before school that day. He angrily asked, “Are you sure?” and I said, “Definitely.” So Guy 1 crossed the classroom and decked Guy 2 in the jaw. Turns out, the girl I saw Guy 2 kissing was Guy 1′s sister. Whoopsie daisy.

Garth’s song didn’t help me find luck with the older ladies.

• As a freshman, I anonymously gave a very pretty senior a love song I’d written her. It was Garth Brooks’ “Shameless,” but I assumed she’d never heard it and wouldn’t discover what a fraud I was. She never wrote back, and I couldn’t tell if it was because of the plagiarism or the fact that I never told her my name. Either way, she’s a tramp.

• My freshman year, I wrote an article for the school newspaper that said our football coach wasn’t as good as our hated rival’s coach. Our coach and his players really didn’t like me after that, but I wasn’t scared. Only a coward would hit a tiny gymnast.

• I got ejected from a basketball game senior year when I hurled a string of obscenities at the opposing team’s star player and told him we were going to kick their asses. I failed to notice the referee standing right next to him. Timeout was promptly called and a police officer politely escorted me out of the gym.

• I told my honors English teacher the horrible lie that I couldn’t take her (more difficult) class freshman year because it violated my religious views. (God hates persuasive essays.) I still feel bad about this one.

This all seems trivial and makes me sound like a terrible person, but these are just the memories that stand out most today, for whatever reason. I promise I did some good things, such as playing classic rock records in student council and eating Golden Grahams for breakfast every day. I was also an honor student and can say with certainty that at least seven people thought I was a pretty nice guy.

Given the opportunity to time travel, I wouldn’t do high school over again. I milked it for everything it had the first time, and I enjoyed the experience more than anyone in the history of humanity.

So bring on the nostalgia and another trip down memory lane. I might not cry over days gone by anymore, but if I do, I might need you to hold me and then wipe my mouth when I’m done vomiting.

6 Comments Post a comment
  1. High school was a whole lot more painful for the geeky daughter of the German/English teacher. People he flunked would come after me all the time and beat me up. At least I know that I can now drop them where they stand (as long as I have a bat or a big stick)…;o) And actually one of my most hated rivals recently told me that she has a great deal of respect for me. And I didn’t even have to set her hair on fire or corner her in the bathroom!

    May 22, 2012
    • But, in retrospect, you could’ve set her hair on fire and no one would’ve cried foul. As for the other bullies, they will get their comeuppance in the form of an eternity spent in a place where they must eat glass shards and drink liquified pencil shavings.

      May 22, 2012
  2. I remember that article. And um, you were right. I didn’t know, however, that you were a Chinese Gymnast placed in our midst. If I had, I would have asked you to turn in your articles for editing only after you did no fewer than three back hand springs across the production room floor. I’ll take a raincheck.

    May 22, 2012
    • Too little, too late. I retired from competitive gymnastics last year after I broke a toe. (Toes are the backbone of a gymnast’s arsenal, y’know?) Oh well. Besides, Mr. Thompson was always holding my handspring skills back.

      May 22, 2012
  3. Nice rack, Hansen.

    May 22, 2012

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