How great were your high school years? Was it a golden time? Did your friendships last a lifetime?

My high school memories reasserted themselves last week while watching Napa High students perform an Agatha Christie play, “Evil Under the Sun.”

The kids pulled it off with great style and humor, and I don’t mean just our Jonathan, the surprise murderer. You had to love those British accents.

Leaving the Little Theater, I contrasted Jonathan’s multifarious performance opportunities since arriving at Napa High four years ago with my own high school experience.

Unlike Jonathan, I wasn’t a thespian. I didn’t play a brass instrument. I didn’t march with the band. I didn’t sing in the choir. I didn’t do athletics.

Alas, my four years were a total academic grind. Year after year, a broccoli-like menu of math, history, English, Spanish and science. Assuming my brain has two sides, I never tapped the other one.

If today you asked my former classmates at White Station High School in Memphis to recall me, I don’t think they could. I was a mouse of a student. I had the profile of a ruler.

I never went to one football or basketball game. Not a single dance.

White Station’s icon was the Spartan. I was a ghost Spartan. I slunk through the hallways. Instead of friends, I had acquaintances — the people who happened to sit next to me in homeroom. I was a clique of one.

My school probably had a bully or two, but no one picked on me. I was invisible.

My only extracurricular activity was the Spanish Club. We went on two field trips to eat Mexican, which was a novelty cuisine at the time.

I made it into the math honor society, but we didn’t have meetings. Math is best done alone.

That was high school. A blur of classes and two Mexican meals.

Those who know the gregarious, high-spirited Kevin Courtney of today are probably flummoxed. How could he not have been a Big Man on Campus?

It’s hard to remember the me of 45 years ago, much less explain him. Was I a late bloomer? A serious introvert? Can I blame circumstances?

My family, led by a single mom, did move a lot. Three states in three years during adolescence. I was always the new kid, one who was slow to thaw.

When I got to Memphis, most of my classmates had been together for years. Equally intimidating, they were Southerners. As a Yankee, I viewed White Station as an anthropology assignment.

Adding to my estrangement, White Station served an affluent part of the city, while I lived miles away in a working-class neighborhood. My classmates drove hot cars to school. I rode the city bus, a trip that required a transfer each way.

If Memphis schools had been integrated in those days, and they most definitely were not, I could have been the token black man.

Cheryl’s high school experience in Southern California was a lot different. She was elected a class officer. She’s kept in touch with girlfriends.

There were girls like Cheryl at my high school. I admired them from afar.

Cheryl insists that my high school experience, though unfortunate, was not unique. More teens than you can imagine never plug in. Instead of extracurricular activities after school, vast numbers retreat to their bedrooms.

A lot of kids haven’t matured, she said. Their insecurities consume them. They don’t have the courage to venture out and find their niche. High school isn’t a fit for everybody.

True enough, but I should have tried harder. My mom should have pushed me to do more.

I wasted untold hours daydreaming about life after high school. I imagined that college would be a lot better. A non-Southern college.

Looking back, I recall only one high school activity that I found compelling, but lacked the nerve to join. Let others play quarterback or lead the debate team. I wanted to write for my school paper.

Imagine writing up the news and being read by everyone and having your name in print. What a grandiose thing that would be.

As an ordinary student I couldn’t relate to my high school. But as a reporter … well, that would have been completely different.

Kevin can be reached at 256-2217 or Napa Valley Register,  P.O. Box 150, Napa 94559 or kcourtney@napanews.com