From the Mouths of Babes

For no particular reason, I thought yesterday of something I did in fifth grade. At the time it was tremendously embarrassing, and I felt ashamed for being Wrong rather than Clever. This is a feeling that guarantees a memory will burrow into my brain and lodge itself there for all time. In retrospect, though, it's hilarious and I'm glad to have brought some merriment into my wonderful teacher's life. It happened during social studies. Mademoiselle Violet asked the class who the president of Russia was, and following this question there was a resounding silence lasting, in my recollection, about five minutes. Then, a bolt from the blue! I had an answer. I gasped! I raised my hand! "Newt Gingrich," I declared.