First week of school. Damn. I hate it.

There are not many sights that fill me with more bittersweetness than kids wearing fresh clothes and forced smiles, bouncing down the sidewalk into first grade. I'm scared for them. Will the other kids make fun of the new backpack he picked out? Will she be excluded on the playground by the shifting cliques of girldom? Will they serve Salisbury steak 200 days in a row?

I know some parents say, "My kids just LOVE school," but I doubt it for one of the worst possible reasons – it's not MY experience. Those shocking first few years of school, when I was thrown out of the Garden of Eden into the world of other kids, still haunt me. Kids so different and aggressive that the only way I could combat them was to become like them and hate myself for it.

My first-grade classroom was cavernous with concrete floors. It had a ceiling taller than the Statue of Liberty, and exposed metalwork sprayed with asbestos and dog cancer. My teacher, Mrs. Riddle, was a smoker, and I can still remember the scarf she wore around her neck on that first day. I was heartbroken two months later when my dad told me that we were moving to another town for another job. I thanked Mrs. Riddle for being a good teacher, and in that strange intimacy, she hugged me close to her breast, which smelled of smoke and old-lady perfume.

Then, in my second elementary school in as many months, I had to start over. I arrived late.

To my horror, all the desks in the overcrowded classroom were full. Mrs. Taylor, my diminutive new teacher with glasses on the end of her nose like a Dickens character, asked loudly, "Who here wouldn't mind giving up their desk for our new student Gordon Keith?"

A kid named Shane raised his hand. With a startling lack of self-consciousness, he said, "He can sit here. I can move to a chair until you get another desk."

I tried to whisper "Thank you," but it didn't happen. Not many words did for awhile. Shane's act of kindness stayed with me, even after I moved yet again.

Six months ago, I found him. He was in Florida.

"Shane, my name is Gordon Keith, and we were in first grade together."

"Gordon! Yes."

"Shane, you did something for me about three decades ago that I've always wanted to thank you for." I explained the scared kid in the doorway who couldn't talk.

"You are not going to believe this, but I totally remember that. You were wearing a blue shirt."

Hear Gordon on "The Ticket" KTCK-AM (1310) weekdays from 5:30 to 10 a.m. E-mail him at gordon@gordonkeith.com.

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