Tax Deduction No. 1 participated in the second-grade spelling bee on Monday. Judging by the number of auto-corrects the ol’ laptop has thrown at me during these first two sentences, you’d think she didn’t stand a chance.
As a matter of fact, I won the spelling bee when I was in third grade. It was down to me and a pretty red-headed girl, and the word was “gurgle.” When she spelled the entire word correctly — except for the “e” on the end — I knew glory and a gift certificate for a free hamburger at King’s were just seconds away.
When it was my turn, I spelled “gurgle” correctly, and for whatever reason a couple of guys in class hoisted me on their shoulders and walked me around the room as if I’d won the Superbowl. One of the guys who paraded me around the room is now a successful politician, and the other went to prison a few years back for trying to kill someone. It’s going to be an awesome class reunion.
After years of reflection, I’ve determined they weren’t necessarily happy that I’d won, rather that the red-headed girl who’d repeatedly rejected them had lost. These rubes actually thought they’d win this girl’s heart by giving her their school cafeteria-issue square peanut cookies, or by performing some Twyla Tharpe-esque routine on the playground jungle gym.
I’d had girlfriends since kindergarten, but I wasn’t giving up a cookie nor a healthy spine for any dame. That I ended up being a chubby kid with scoliosis helped me stay focused on my studies.
The Wife won the spelling bee when she was in fourth grade, although she claims not to remember her winning word. I spent some time rummaging through her school records and discovered the word she spelled correctly was “androphobia.” After I looked up what androphobia meant, it concerned me that A) she had that in her pocket at such a young age and B) she always talks about how comfortable she is around me.
The days leading up to TD No. 1’s spelling bee were tense. Not a moment went by that someone wasn’t hurling a random word at the child and demanding she rattle off the correct order of its contained letters. She was doing well with most of the words, so every few minutes I’d throw in something like crudivore, donnybrook or gaberlunzie just to keep her humble.
For nights on end, I woke TD No. 1 from a deep sleep and made her spell 10 words correctly before she could go back to sleep. Most fathers wouldn’t take the trouble to wake an 8-year-old at 3 a.m. and ask her to spell snollygoster, but I’m old school. One day we’ll get paddling back in the schools, but one step at a time.
As I pulled up to the school, it appeared Noah was gearing up for a summer tour as the clouds voided themselves with extreme prejudice. The one, sad little umbrella that hadn’t made its way into The Wife’s car was sitting in the back seat of the car begging for some playing time.
The umbrellas that used to be in my car could repel hail, locusts and process servers. Over time, these umbrellas always end up migrating to my better half’s conveyance, thus leaving me with the brittle, bent and tattered umbrella that was purchased at the Dollar Store in 1993.
I have to say that beat up little umbrella did a heck of a job keeping my right hand completely dry as I walked across the school parking lot. Once inside, I was able to use that dry right hand to squeeze seven gallons of water out of my clothes.
After identifying myself at the front office, school officials went against their better judgment and let me in. Once inside, I sat at what was undoubtedly a durable cafeteria table that was not built for a 6-foot-tall man. After reattaching my knee cap to my leg, I waited for the festivities to begin.
The kids eventually came in and took their places on stage. The moderator went through several rounds of words before the participants (who had to win in their classes to get this far) started to be thinned down. Most of the words were of the “paste” or “smile” variety, although the inclusion of the word “onomatopoeia” was deemed cruel by many in attendance.
After several rounds, it came down to two kids: TD No. 1 and her best friend, Mary. The drama of two best friends going into battle was almost Shakespearean, but there was something else to consider. TD No. 1 had just attended Mary’s birthday party the week before, and their friendship was stronger than ever. I worried that being thrust into competition on such a public stage might tear their friendship apart. This could rob them of the chance to have a falling out over a boy, only to later reconcile during a chance meeting at the concession stand on field day.
TD No. 1 and her best buddy seemed calm and collected onstage — even when a teacher yelled out “BABABOOEY!” during a quiet moment. Except for the low creak of the air conditioning system and the barrage of violent crashes and explosions emanating from the cafeteria kitchen, you could here a pin drop. It would have to be a pretty big pin to be heard over the Civil War re-enactment going on in the kitchen, but you could have heard it.
Eventually, TD No. 1 tripped up but made us very, very proud with a second-place finish. She received a certificate, a cup full of goodies and a trophy that will no doubt have its lettering rubbed off before the weekend is here.
Jon Dawson’s columns appear every Tuesday and Thursday in The Free Press. Contact Jon at 252-559-1092 or jon.dawson@kinston.com. Purchase books, music and Gary Dell’abate mustache kits at jondawson.com.