To this day, Beth can still list the last names of all of my grade school classmates. We turn it into a party game to impress people. I will give her a prompt, like “Danny,” and she will follow up with “LAHIFF!” I don’t know why she knows this, but then again I can do the same for all her classmates. The difference is that my class numbered about 60, while hers was closer to a dozen.

We always wanted to go to school together. But living in different cities and being unable to convince our parents that this was a necessity in life prevented that from happening throughout grade school and high school. Still, we found ways around this.

I asked my 8th grade teacher if I could bring Beth to class with me on the last day before Christmas vacation because it was a shortened day. I really wanted her to see Ryan, who couldn’t help himself from doing a constant impression of “Beavis and Butthead.” I wanted her to see Mike, the hairy kid who once pinched my butt on the way back inside from a fire drill and then blamed someone else, even though I knew it was him. For some reason, my teacher not only let her come to school for the day, but suggested, “Why doesn’t she use the extra ticket we have to go on the field trip to see A Christmas Carol?” Weird.

I went to any school function Beth’s grade school had, though admittedly it was more because I had crushes on all the boys in her class. From basketball games to pancake breakfasts, you can bet I was there. When I sat in the church watching Beth get confirmed, I couldn’t even concentrate on the ceremony because Dave was sitting next to me with his arm around my shoulder. Dave was a grade below Beth, but the 7th and 8th grades shared classrooms since the classes were so small. When the ceremony was done, Dave and I snuck out the back door of the church because Dave claimed he had to “show me something.” He led me all the way around the church. I asked him what he wanted to show me. He pointed to some bushes and crouched down. I knelt down beside him and before I knew what was happening, he kissed me on the lips and it was over. “OK,” he said, leading the way back to the church to meet up with the rest of the kids. Um, excuse me? What had just happened here? I was dumbfounded. The next day Beth rushed home from school to tell me the big topic of the day. Apparently, Dave told his friends that he had his coat over his lap while he sat with his arm around me in the church pew because he had....um, “something to hide.” Being 13 years old, this was still funny without entering into the territory of “creepy” that a few more years could offer.

In high school, Beth lied and told her teachers I was thinking of transferring to her school, just so she could give me a tour for the day. I was forced to participate in Beth’s German class, an experience I found to be very traumatic since I had never spoken German in my life. At lunchtime, I met the infamous Pat Triptow. Every day for lunch his mom would pack him a bologna sandwich, and every day he would refuse to eat it. Rather than just telling his mom to pack him something different, he would carefully take apart his sandwich in the cafeteria and throw the slices of bologna onto the ceiling. Sometimes they would stay there for days.

By the time we were both in college, it was obvious that we were going to choose the same place to be. As excited as we were to finally be attending school together, there were days when more important things came up than learning about the Latin name for the rats that brought the bubonic plague to Europe (rattus rattus). Sometimes we would get to school and decide we simply couldn’t stand to be in class that day. We might try to entertain ourselves by sneaking into the science building and playing frisbee with a pot holder than Beth always stored in her bookbag. I don’t know why she kept it there instead of in the kitchen at home, but times like this I sure was glad she had one around.

If we were in class, the risks of keeping each other entertained were heightened because the teacher might catch us and frown upon it. Sometimes when we would give presentations in front of the class, Beth and I would hold up signs at each other. If she was standing in the front of the room, I might hold up a sign that said “STEAK” from the safety of my desk. Then it was up to Beth to remain her composure in front of the entire classroom. Another time, my brother found several strips of black and white photos from a school of mentally retarded children in the 1970s. One nite before class, I painstakingly cut all of the pictures off the strip so that I would have single photos and I put them in a zip-lock bag. The next day in class, I passed Beth a picture one at a time throughout the entire school day. I tried to make her laugh aloud so that she would get yelled at. Unfortunately she did a very good job keeping her cool. Her payback for this stunt almost found me in trouble. On the way to one of our English classes, I got a little cheese and cracker set out of a vending machine. During class I passed Beth the jalapeno pepper that was with the cheese. The minute our teacher turned his back to write on the chalkboard, Beth held the pepper in my face to make sure I got a good look at it, and then she quickly tossed it over her shoulder. I was appalled. No one was sitting behind us, but people in the class had to have seen her do it. I turned around and there was the bright green pepper, sitting alone in the middle of the white table behind us. I could hardly contain myself.

Sometimes we were lucky enough to have a class where the seats were close together and we could pass a notebook back and forth without getting caught. There was one terrible logic class we had that was impossible to stay focused during, and because of this we filled up an entire notebook by the end of the semester. The following are some excerpts:

“I called my mom from the airport yesterday and told her I was going to Miami. She said ‘Bring me back a Chicano!’”

“Yesterday I was getting so mad at Matt for picking his nose and I was like, ‘If you know you have snot, ask me for a Kleenex, ok?’”

“Yesterday I taught Matthew to burp because I figured he’d fart less if he learned how.”

“Q: Describe the relation between Portugal and Dick Fox’s genitals.”

“My new nickname is Pimplies Q.”

Somehow, we managed to stay out of trouble our entire college career, a feat I will never fully understand but I am forever grateful for. We were lucky to have several influential professors along the way that taught us things like “Dead people do not write poetry!” or “Ranch dogs are very yip-yappy.” We also learned that “you dance to Jefferson Airplane the same way that you pick flowers, ” and “alligators don’t care about makin’ friends.” But perhaps the greatest bit of advice was this, which Beth and I wrote down word-for-word in our notes: “If you see Marlon Brando in person today, turn and run the other way. He will probably lift up your arm and lick your armpit and then buy you a candy bar.” And yes...those really were direct quotes from some of our teachers.

All joking aside, we did have some memorable teachers throughout our years in college. There was the professor whose last name was Karem (pronounced CARE-UM) that Beth addressed as “Karem Abdul Jabbar” on her bluebook for the class final. Then there was the teacher who wore tan colored jeans, but there would always be gray sweat pants peeking out mysteriously from the bottom of his pant legs. Our all-time favorite was the professor who pointed out to the class that he didn’t know what to make of our New Kids on the Block folders because he didn’t know if we were being ironic or not. A few days later, we left a N.K.O.T.B. trading card on his desk before class. When we saw him out at a show one nite, he invited us to a sports bar and bought us drinks, where we talked about how English classes should be taught by sock puppets. These were the teachers that we wouldn’t soon forget.

School will be over for good in a few months. While I am relieved, I can also say I will be sad to see it end. Where else will we go to eat lunch and sit in the balcony so that we can purposely laugh at the way people make their salads at the salad bar? Who else would teach us things like “Puff the Magic Dragon is sappy happy crappy” or “Jim Morrison got thrown into jail for talking to his little penis”? I’m sure that Beth and I can find other places to hold up “STEAK” signs or play frisbee with a potholder, but it just won’t be the same. School days were our days. And those days are over.

As for the title of this story, you have probably guessed it by now: Yes, we totally learned that in class.

xoxo