Search

ARCHIVES
CONTACT US
WORLD NEWS

A college student at 8

Wildcat File Photo Arizona Daily Wildcat Skippy Villarreal

This is the first article I've ever written, so I wasn't sure what to write about at all. It's just one of the things my dad told me to do for him when he left Tuesday to go to "Vegas."

Dad told me that while he was gone, I'd be the man of the apartment, so I'd hafta go to all his classes at college for him and play on his intramural football team and go to parties just like he would have.

So then I got my idea of what to write. I'd just describe my week livin' the life of a college student.

Wednesday

College is better than third grade. Teachers don't care if I bring in a Twinkie to eat and a Coke to drink during class. Miss April, my teacher at my school, would never let me do that. There's also super-long recesses. After my first class ended at 11, I got three hours to go climb on all the fences and play in the big 'ole dirt piles that are all around the school.

Thursday

I didn't want to go to marketing today, so I just stayed home and played Nintendo. At the intramural football game, I was happy 'cause I wasn't the smallest one there. A player named Squeak was the same size I was. Then a bunch of big guys beat up on our team. I didn't get to run the ball the whole game, and I almost cried afterwards. My dad's teammates told me not to be sad, 'cause my dad usually doesn't get the ball either.

Friday

The school day was the same as Wednesday. My dad has a boring life sometimes. I am starting to miss third grade. I hate college teachers. They're boring. The girl who sat next to me in economics must think the same thing. She slept the whole time. At lunch time, I couldn't find anyone to play Pok­mon with me.

Saturday

I woke up and watched cartoons. Later on, my dad's friends took me to a party. It was a lot different than Johnny's birthday party at Golf N' Stuff. I was the littlest one there, so they didn't give me a big plastic cup to drink out of like everyone else had. All I got was a little tiny glass cup, and that was filled up with nasty juice. I think it was called "to-kill-ya." I'm glad I didn't get a bigger glass, because it was gross. I drank five of them, then threw up just like the time I ate those bad hot dogs.

Sunday

I didn't get up till 3, just like my dad does sometimes when he says he has a "hangover." And I think I had one, too. Billy and Eddie called me to see if I wanted to rollerblade, but I went to sleep again, woke up to watch the "Simpsons," then went to sleep again. I wish mom would get out of jail.

My dad called at eight, and he asked me how my week was. I told him that college life was OK, but I was ready to go back to third grade. Then he told me that his week wasn't so good either. I could tell he had a "hangover," too.