#50. We Used to Have to Know How to Spell, And There Was a Bee
A long time ago, in a galaxy (that seems so) far, far away…
there was no such thing as a word processor or word processing software. There was no option to rely on the auto-correct function and therefore, people actually needed to learn how to spell.
I’m reminded of a particular event in my formative years. Specifically, in fifth grade, probably around 1981, when I was ten.
If I remember correctly, and I can’t, I did pretty well in the previous year’s Spelling Bee when I was in the fourth grade, and I was considered a heavy favorite for this one. I think the oddsmakers had folks laying more than they’d win although I can’t remember the actual numbers.
The spelling bee started off as spelling bees do. Opponents feeling each other out. Lots of dancing, bobbing, weaving and ducking. No punches were thrown but there were definitely subtle, intimidating glances being exchanged by the combatants. Small but visible beads of sweat on some, puddles under chairs of others.
But not me. I got this.
A few rounds in and chairs that had been filled with squeaky bums, now sat vacant. The physical chasms between gladiators grew wider with each elimination.
I had battled bravely. But this was to be expected.
And then…
Brian, please spell the word “their” as in, “the children enjoyed drawing with their pencils.”
The famous concealed TWO-PARTER!
To most, this might’ve been a toughie — I first had to figure out which “their” it was. For me, it was an easy one. And then I had to spell it….
Simple.
What was that always, endless, enduring, established, eternal, evermore, fixed, for always, for good, for keeps, for life, forevermore, immovable, immortal, infinite, interminable, lastingly, nailed, now and forever, on and on, permanent, rigid, till death do us part RULE again?
Oh yeah, “i” before “e” except after “c.”
T — H — I — E — R
I’m sorry, Brian, that is incorrect.
My stomach sank. I started to sweat. I could hear a pin drop, and then shrieks of shock and horror.
Mighty Casey had struck out.
I thought I saw men in fedoras running out of the assembly hall towards the cashier booths, screaming and waving tickets in their hands, probably hoping to get one final bet in to recoup what they’d lost on me.
I remember walking off stage right. My teacher met me after I stepped off the last step.
She bopped me on the head and lovingly said,
You spelled “THY-er,” dummy!
Needless to say I didn’t feel consoled.
It’s been about thirty-five years now. I don’t remember who won. I don’t really care. But that date, that event, lives on in infamy in PS 174 lore. Or at least in my head.
I suppose it’s about time I let it go.
