I was sitting at an ill fitting right handed desk in my 6th grade home room left handedly drawing a machine gun wielding pigfaced super hero one morning when my teacher said she had a major announcement. I was more interested in figuring out how to draw camouflage than her announcement, but evidently, she was telling us about the spelling bee. A few days later, we had an in-class spelling bee and I didn’t make it very far. It was an advanced class and I didn’t pay attention enough to have known she’d given us a long list of words I was supposed to have memorized. I didn’t do badly, but I didn’t land in the top percentile either. I was an underachiever in a class of eggheads. I was more interested in the latest issues of GI Joe, The Punisher, and X-Men than I was in memorizing how to spell mascara or learning the rules to a spelling bee. The top 10 from our class got to compete in the school’s official spelling bee later that month against kids from the other classes. That was clearly not a fair contest as we were the advanced students and the rest were not. Was Ed Smith, the only semi-balding, mustache wearing man in the 6th grade a threat to outspell Amy, the teacher's pet who skipped 5th grade altogether and who once cried when she was given an A- on a test the rest of us failed? Of course not. The format was silly. We were smarter than the rest of them and the real spelling bee was the one I had just spaced out on. C’est la vie.
A few weeks later, the official school spelling bee was held and the kids in the special ed class were unable to participate. Evidently, Fred bit Nester in the face and they put the whole class on lockdown. That meant they had ten extra seats to fill. I’m sitting in the cafeteria watching as the teachers debate how to fill those seats and realize the obvious answer is to add more kids from the advanced class, so I sauntered by Mrs. Stutts acting completely unaware they were trying to fill seats ASAP, and the next thing I know, I’m in the competition. I get a dirty look from several of my other classmates who know what I just did. They ended up filling the other nine seats with kids from my class, but I was clearly the most undeserving one on stage. No worries. I’m not a great speller. I didn’t even pay attention to the rules. I don’t have a clue and I won’t last a round. My dumbass couldn’t even spell mascara. Right?
Heh!
As the cafeteria began to fill up with kids from all the grades, I looked around and saw a bunch of nervous classmates. Mark, my 6th grade nemesis, was sweating. Paul, Brian, Brian, and Brian all had the look of people who didn’t want to be there. I looked around and thought “I can win this.” Very quickly Amy was out. Paul, Mark, Brian, Brian, and Brian were down. Before long, it was just me, Holly, and Christie! Then after 4 rounds, it was down to me and Christie dueling for the title of best speller in the school. I looked out and saw my whole class glaring at me. They knew I didn't belong on that stage, so I gave them all a friendly smile and a thumbs up knowing they were rooting against me. Christie was very quiet. I’d been in classes with her since the 3rd grade and this was the first time I’d ever heard her speak. We went back and forth as the words kept getting harder, but I was on a roll. I was certain I was going to win this thing. For one afternoon, I was a spelling machine. Then Christie made a critical error. She misspelled goddess, leaving out the second s. Smelling blood, I pounced and spelled it correctly without hesitation. The win was mine if I could just spell one more word right. The principal was one of the judges and he advised if I spell the next word right, I’d be the 1986 Grove Park Spelling Bee winner. The place went silent. Even the hyper 1st graders were being quiet in anticipation. Then I was given my word.
“Chocolate”
Chocolate? That’s a perfect word for a guy with my sweet tooth. This thing is in the bag. I hear everyone groan at such an easy word be the winning word. I smiled, looked towards the audience with complete confidence and said:
“Chocolate . . . C-H-O-C-A-L-A-T-E . . . Chocolate.”
I look out into the crowd and even the first graders are sighing at me like I’m an idiot. Failing to capitalize on the opportunity, the competition went on. I don’t remember the word that ultimately eliminated me, but Christy quickly regained her composure and beat me fair and square. Runner up wasn’t bad. It got my name and picture in the Clay Today and best of all, Mark protested for weeks that it wasn’t fair I was allowed in the spelling bee, but regardless of the positives, I inexplicably failed to spell chocolate when it mattered most. Christie went on to represent our school at the state spelling bee and I went on to focusing on the things that were important to me: drawing porcine super soldiers and reading comic books. I wouldn't say my inability to seize the moment haunts me, but sometimes on a quiet night with the right ears I can still hear myself saying “Chocolate . . . C-H-O-C-A-L-A-T-E . . . Chocolate.”
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