There was the Sixth Grade Talent Show, which opened with a rendition of The Star Spangled Banner on the electric guitar. It was pretty awful - the rendition that is - but the fact that a guy was playing an electric guitar made up for any potential awfulness. I also remember some girls doing a skit that was a parody of talk shows where they smeared ugly makeup all over their faces. After that I decided that I was going to do something really good for the sixth grade talent show, but despite it being in the back of my mind ever since that moment I didn't make up my mind until just a few months before it actually happened.
We also got ice cream sandwiches. We talked about what we were going to do over the summer. We discussed some of our favorite things about kindergarten.
But the highlight took place immediately after the talent show. After it we were totally riled up and the hallways were completely empty. And then out of nowhere Mrs. Johnson told us that after a hundred and eighty days of complacently walking in single file that we were free to just this once run down the hallways completely regardless of formation. There were two caveats, though: we would never get the chance to do this again, we couldn't tell anyone about it, and we had to be completely silent.
So twenty or so five year olds went running down the hallway with Mrs. Johnson leading the way. She had this crazy look on her face, her mouth agape; it was like she was happily screaming at the top of a rollercoaster, except no noise was coming out. We all followed suit. The only sound there was were the thump thump thumps of our feet across the hall.
The weird thing is that my last day of high school was barely a year ago and yet I can't remember a moment of it.