I happened to be reminisc ing about my elementary school days recently, and I was surprised to experience a flood of vivid memories from those long-ago times. It amazed me that so many rec ollections (of my teachers, the classrooms, the oddly scented meat loaf they served every Thursday) still lurked in the dark recesses of my brain. Especially considering my dili gent efforts over the years to kill off brain cells via overex posure to drink, television, and so-called compassionate con servatives.

None of these memories about school, however, involved multiplication tables or history lessons or writing in complete sentences. What stuck in my mind were those indelible moments that had nothing to do with book learn ing and everything to do with life experience. Such are the lessons that make a child's education so rich and dynam ic -- or completely useless, I'm not sure.

In kindergarten the main lesson I learned was that sharing with others is little to no fun. And if I ever passed gas one of my classmates was sure to give me away with a hand to their nose and a loud, `` Eeewww.'' No chance for subtlety there.

In first grade we made cos tumes to celebrate Thanksgiv ing. Of course it was immedi ately after I'd finished and donned my costume that my teacher asked me to deliver a message to a second-grade teacher. Sporting my Native American attire made of brown paper bags with three red construction paper feath ers attached to my head, I endured the giggles of the sec ond-graders as I made my way up to the teacher's desk. I'll bet a fortune that the note said something like, `` Isn't this kid adorable -- I just hope he doesn't suffer any lasting trauma from being laughed at by your students.''

The main focus of second grade was drawing a picture of your favorite dinosaur. Dis aster struck when the cootieridden girl sitting next to me nudged my elbow while I drew, leaving an errant streak of green across the page. For tunately I salvaged my blem ished artwork by drawing my dinosaur driving a huge green convertible. In third grade I read a set of encyclopedias from cover to cover and painted portraits in the style of Renoir. I also began to tell lies compulsively.

I don't remember anything from fourth grade except that the teacher sometimes gave us pretzels if we were good. And passing gas was still cause for major fanfare.

In fifth grade someone's dad came in one day and taught us how to make our own root beer. I learned the hard way that adding marsh mallows to your root beer mixture isn't as fabulous as it sounds.

Looking back at my ele mentary school years I'm pleased that I had so many interesting experiences. Though I can't really remem ber ever learning to multiply or spell correctly, I must have picked it up at some point along the way. Besides, it's much more important that now I know not to wear my Thanksgiving Day costume out in public.

BILL ZUCK is suddenly craving marshmallow-flavored root beer, which he still thinks would be awfully tasty. Share your own root beer recipes at wcz78(at)(at)yahoo.com.