This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2015, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.

I recently discovered the first suggestion that I was destined for a career in newspapers. Digging through a box of childhood memorabilia at my parents' place, I found the following note from my fifth-grade teacher.

"Bobby needs to act his age," Mrs. Henry wrote to my parents. "His immaturity is a constant disruption to the class."

Attached to the note is a newspaper clipping I took to school for "current events," a part of class I loathed because it was such a waste of time.

Several times a week, Mrs. Henry would call on a few of us to stand in front of the class and read newspaper articles brought from home about something of interest happening in the world.

The other kids brought clippings about the Kennedy assassination, civil rights, the space race, the Beatles, the Cold War, Indochina, etc. One kid with glasses thicker than mine read a stock report until Mrs. Henry made him stop.

All of that stuff ­­— which apparently everyone else found rivetingly mature — bored me silly. I never brought anything to share. Current events were dull.

But then one day I came across a news story that I deemed worthy of presenting to the class. Suddenly the news was interesting.

I was rolling up a copy of the newspaper to smack my little brother around when I spotted a truly important news item.

Right there in a 1964 issue of the Idaho Statesman was a story about a Florida firefighter who had his lips bitten off by a monkey.

Yeah, I know, right? Who gave a damn about Khrushchev, Cuba or Queen Elizabeth? A monkey biting a public servant was news people could really use.

According to the story, a Miami pet store went up in flames. A firefighter ran into the store and retrieved an unconscious monkey. He was administering CPR to the monkey outside when it woke up.

The monkey did what anyone would do upon being awakened by someone groping and kissing them. It isn't clear what happened to the monkey next, but a doctor was summoned for the firefighter.

The following morning Mrs. Henry was surprised when I raised my hand. The kid who never had anything to share was suddenly ready to participate in current events.

It was only two paragraphs, so I actually managed to get all the way through it before Mrs. Henry came to her senses. It didn't help that some of the other kids were snickering by then.

Mrs. Henry silenced us all with her branding iron stare. Deeply annoyed, she demanded to know why I thought such news was worth sharing with everyone.

"So people won't kiss monkeys," I said, before pointing at a girl I didn't like. "Or even Nancy."

What followed probably wouldn't have been so bad if the class hadn't laughed. That cost me two days of recess, a grudging apology to Nancy, another weary admonishment from the principal and a note home to my parents.

That evening, the Old Man tried to keep a straight face while lecturing me about the importance of growing up and acting my age. I'd never get anywhere in life if I didn't learn to take things more seriously.

Wrong. I ended up here. It isn't the top of the world but I like it. It's far better than where I would have ended up had I spent my life taking people like Mrs. Henry seriously.

Robert Kirby can be reached at rkirby@sltrib.com or facebook.com/stillnotpatbagley. Find his past columns at http://www.sltrib.com/lifestyle/kirby/