Confidence, C-O-N-F-I-D-E-N-C-E, confidence.
It’s a force of habit. Muscle memory honed from hours of constant practice and discipline. If you participated in your school spelling bee, you remember the drill: Say the word, spell it, and say the word once more.
Tedious, T-E-D-I-O-U-S, tedious.
It’s like a mating call for word nerds, the way we call to each other in the dark. Ask a bunch of adults to spell a word, and the beers (that’s bee-er, not the fermented malt beverage) will do that.
Anxiety, A-N-X-I-E-T-Y, anxiety.
I was in my first spelling bee in the fourth grade, although I didn’t realize it at the time; my teacher just said we were going to play a special game. We all lined up in front of the room, and she gave each kid a word to spell. If they spelled it wrong, they sat down.
In a few moments, most of the kids were back in their seats, and there were only a few left. A few more rounds, and I won the game.
No big surprise there. I loved reading, and spelling was my best subject. In fact, spelling and reading were the only A's I got in the fourth grade.
"Congratulations, Erik," my teacher said. "You’re going to be in the school spelling bee in a few weeks."
Spelling bee? What the heck is that? When’s recess?
My parents made me study the booklet every night. I didn’t know how, so I just read the list of words over and over. But it got me out of clearing the dinner dishes, so I was happy to do it.
"Why doesn’t Erik have to clear the table?" my sister whined one night.
"Because he’s studying for the spelling bee," my parents said, and I stuck my tongue out at her when they weren’t looking.
Smugness, S-M-U-G-N-E-S-S, smugness.
The day of the big bee came, but I had no idea what was going on, so I didn’t know enough to be worried. Until we stepped out onto the stage, and every kid in school was out there.
Intimidated, I-N-T-I-M-A-T-E-D, intimidated.
The top two children from each of the three upper grades — we had two fourth, fifth, and sixth grade classes — were the 12 contestants.
As we spelled our way through our words, it finally got down to two contestants: me and a sixth-grade kid. I went out, the older kid won, and I was informed that I was the runner-up. That meant, in the event the other kid couldn’t go to the city bee, that I would go.
It also meant I had to clear the dishes again, since I no longer had to study.
Irritating, I-R-R-I-T-A-T-I-N-G, irritating.
My fifth-grade spelling bee came around a year later, and I was once again the best in my class. Once again, I was the runner-up for the school. Once again, I had to clear the dinner dishes after my moment of glory was over.
But the next year, sixth grade, was supposed to be my year. It was a mere formality, at least in my mind, that I was going to be North View Elementary’s golden boy and win the spelling bee.
Instead, I fell flat on my face.
I don’t know how it happened. I couldn’t tell you what the word was, but I went out in the middle of the pack.
Washout, W-A-S-H-O-U-T, washout.
One thing that spelling beers (still bee-ers) can do is ask for a word to be repeated, to be used in a sentence, or what part of speech it is. They can also ask for its etymology or its alternate pronunciations.
I didn’t know any of this, so when the pronouncer gave the word, I didn’t hear it right. I didn’t know what he’d said! What did he say? "Cacophony?" "Thermite?" "Agnostic?" What do I do?
All I heard was "flurfahraraba," and in my head, I was thinking, "Is that with one Q or two?" Even now, I still don’t know what word he actually said, so I tried spelling the garbled nonsense I heard, and I was out.
My ears were ringing, my face was hot, and I wanted to cry. This was supposed to be my day! My victory moment! I was going to be the golden boy of North View Elementary, I was going to be in the newspaper, and they were going to name a wing of the school after me.
But I got tripped up by "flurfahraraba," and that was it. My spelling bee career was over. They don’t have bees for middle school kids, just fourth, fifth, and sixth graders. My career ended in a humiliating defeat, and I’ve never really recovered from it.
Regrets, R-E-G-R-E-T-S, regrets.
Now, all I can do is find new words I don’t know, and follow the same spelling drill I did all those years ago. And to curse my spelling bee pronouncer for mumbling at that crucial moment.
Flurfahraraba, F-L-U-R-F-A-H-R-A-R-A-B-A, flurfahraraba.
Photo credit: Charles J. Sharp (Wikimedia Commons, Creative Comons 3.0)
My new humor novel, Mackinac Island Nation, is finished and available from 4 Horsemen Publications. You can get the ebook and print versions here.