I had a great time in elementary school.

I enjoyed myself in and out of the classroom.

While in the classroom, I spent most of my time memorizing multiplication tables, studying the unbelievably absorbing history of Vermont, or eating rubber cement.

Outside of the classroom, I spent most of my time playing kickball or dodge ball with friends. And, if I couldn't find any friends, I'd be content just to play with myself.

I was the model student.

Although I was sent to the principle's office a few times, that was only because Billy pushed me first, or Amy pushed me first, or because Mrs. Switzer had a really big butt and I didn't want it to eat me.

(That was 1st Grade.)

Still, looking back, huge butts were everywhere in my elementary school. Mrs. Switzer, the lunch ladies, and one of my friends all had rather bulky booties.

Heather was friendly.

Heather was sweet.

Heather was fat.

Heather and I became friends during dodge ball. Heather was usually the first one out. In fact, the relationship that Heather had with dodge ball was not unlike the relationship that O.J. had with his late wife Nicole Brown Simpson-she got hit every day. Heather and I became friends because whenever I was lucky enough to be the one to start a new dodge ball game, I would feel bad for her and spare her life.

For a few turns, anyway.

My other friends were very confused. They couldn't understand why I didn't seem to appreciate that throwing the dodge ball at Heather was only slightly more difficult than throwing a rock into a lake. They also couldn't understand why I would bother to talk to Heather outside of dodge ball.

They also couldn't spell.

They teased Heather mercilessly because of her weight. They told her she could sit on a rainbow and make skittles. They asked her if she put on her belt with a boomerang. They also called her names like "Tubby," "Fatso," and "Rosie O'Donnell."

Sometimes, I think I might have laughed at her, too.

Yesterday I read an article discussing how a couple of school districts have actually started sending letters home to parents of overweight kids. The proponents of this movement argue that if a child is found to have vision or hearing problems, a letter explaining these problems is sent home to the child's parents. Now, if a child is examined and found to be significantly overweight in either Pennsylvania's East Penn school district or Florida's Citrus County, a 'neutrally worded' letter is sent home giving parents the skinny.

This is really f-king stupid.

I remember being called into the nurse's office in elementary school.

I loved visiting the nurse.

Time spent with the school nurse, who happened to be a slender strawberry-blond, was always much more exciting than time spent learning cursive, adding fractions, or avoiding Mrs. Switzer's butt.

I remember most of her examinations. One test involved discriminating between pitches presented to either ear. In another, I'd carefully articulate why I felt the red dot was over the letter K. Though I didn't really know what was happening at the time, it seemed important enough for me to take seriously.

As I read the article, I imagined Heather being called into the nurse's office-immediately following an exceptionally brutal dodge ball pummeling-only to be put on a scale and told that there will be a letter going home to her parents in a few days. In a few weeks the signs above the cafeteria doors will have mysteriously changed to read: MAXIMUM ROOM OCCUPANCY 270 PERSONS OR HEATHER.

While I do agree that obesity is a public health concern rapidly approaching epidemic proportions, I just can't understand what these 'neutrally worded' letters hope to accomplish. Certainly, they won't make the overweight kids feel any better, and I'm confident that they won't exactly motivate their parents to unplug the X-Box and throw out the Apple Crisps, either.

I suppose the moral of the story is that enough dodge ball humiliation might exact some measure of dietary reform, and that the largest goal of the letters is to prevent as many Heathers from turning into Mrs. Switzers as possible. That, I'd have to say, would be a good thing.

I always thought Heather was kind of cute.