The Slug Life Chose Me

Well, it finally happened. At this weekend’s Del Norte High multi-class reunion, after years of working hard at being a professional underachiever with a flair for comic timing, I was handed a most singular honor a human being can receive–The Golden Banana Slug Award.

Now, I know what you’re thinking—why me? Why not the kid who actually went on to cure something, or the one who became mayor of a small town, or even the gal who can still fit into her cheerleading uniform without threatening public safety?

I’ll tell you why–persistence. The banana slug doesn’t sprint.

It doesn’t soar. It doesn’t even crawl with any real sense of urgency.

But it never quits. And apparently, that’s been my life story in one gooey nutshell.

When they called my name, I thought it was a joke. Surely, they’d meant to say “Best Hair,” or maybe “Most Likely to Still Owe Someone a Pencil from 1978.”

But no, they meant me, and as they handed me this golden, glistening slug—paint still tacky in a few spots—I realized something important. It wasn’t just a gag award; it was recognition. Recognition for the trail I’ve left behind–the naps taken during algebra, the questionable fire hazard during chemistry lab, the infamous detention conga line that’s still whispered about in certain circles of the faculty lounge.

Let’s face it–some folks race through life, collecting trophies and promotions. Me? I oozed along, occasionally sideways, often sticky, but always moving forward. And here’s the kicker–I had fun doing it.

The award itself is a sight to behold. Imagine a garden slug dressed for the Oscars, dipped in metallic spray paint from Ace Hardware, and mounted on a block of wood that once served as shop class scrap. I held it up high like it was the Stanley Cup, though I admit I was careful—didn’t want to smear my reunion program with that suspicious shine.

And the crowd? They cheered, clapped, and even whistled. One guy sneezed, but I’ll take it as enthusiasm. For a brief, shining moment, I wasn’t just Tom from the class of whenever—I was The Slug.

Now, I don’t want to brag, but I may have leaned into the role a bit. I gave an acceptance speech about slow progress being better than no progress at all. About how leaving a trail isn’t always about where you’re going, but about what you leave behind.

“Who needs to be inducted into the Del Norte High School Hall of Fame, when I have this?” And yes, I ended with, “The slug life chose me.”

The applause was louder than I deserved, but I’ll take it.

The truth is, these reunions aren’t really about who became what. They’re about seeing old friends, remembering who we were, and laughing at the fact that we somehow survived the haircuts, the homework, and the heartbreaks of our teenage years. And if a golden slug helps us laugh together, well, so much the better.

I’ll tell you this much–I’d display that award proudly. Not on a table—it’d clash with Mary’s décor—but maybe on my desk, next to my computer, because at the end of the day, the Golden Banana Slug isn’t just about me.

It’s about all of us who’ve moved through life at our own pace, sometimes slow, sometimes messy, but always leaving a little something behind that sticks. So here’s to the class reunion, to old friends and new laughs, and to the humble slug who reminds us that speed isn’t everything.

Sometimes, it’s the slow, steady, and slightly slimy path that leads to the best stories. And if you don’t believe me—well, I’ve got the picture to prove it, because in the end, there is only one award, and it needs recycling the next time it gets handed out.