Trapped in Second Grade Spell Hell

Trapped in Second Grade Spell Hell

written by: Joel Solis

 

I got a D in Spelling Bee.

Remember the Spelling Bee, that game of public humiliation that shames poor spellers?

I first ran into the Spelling Bee at Catholic School in San Diego, TX.

If you entered the side door by the church, my Second-Grade classroom was the first door on the left. Tall windows lined the north and east walls of the non-air-conditioned building.

The teacher’s solid desk stood between students and a mysterious locked closet. Big Chief Tablets, books sporting Buttercrust Bread covers, and dull pencils littered the old-school student desktops, which formed perfect rows on a wooden floor.

Every morning a student rang in the new school day with a handbell. I couldn’t wait for classes to start.

Our teacher, Sister Ambrosine, was a God-loving, no-nonsense nun who knew how to use a ruler.

Sister was super strict, but she loved us. She also loved Spelling Bees.

We were given a Word List on Monday, and Friday we had a spell-off.

Sister started by choosing two good spellers and having them stand against opposite walls. They then took turns choosing teammates.

Students waited to be called, still holding the list for last-minute reviews of words like “b-i-t-e” and “l-i-m-i-t.”

The better the speller, the faster you’d get picked, and the shorter the wait.

I was a bad speller, still am.

But it turns out, I wasn’t just a bad speller, I was the wurst.

As students were chosen, they rushed to their teammates to do whatever we did before high-fives, until about midway, when choices tilted from good speller to not, and choosing became very mechanical.

In the end, it was always between someone else and me.

The next team always picked the other person second to the last.

Immediately, the other team would start waving their hands shooing me away because they didn’t want me, either. The first team frantically waved me back.

I was caught in the middle, like a duck in an arcade game, going back and forth across the Hunter’s view, waiting to be put out of its misery.

Sister raised her ruler, and her will, be done.

It was a long walk to the end of the line.

As soon as I got back there, Sister called me out. Spell “Focus.”

It was a long walk back to my desk.

Did I forgive them?

Of course, we were Catholic, and we were 7 or 8. Some of my closest lifelong friends came out of that class.

Through the years my spelling improved some, until Spell Check kicked in.

Once, Mom told me that she and Dad made a school visit. A classroom was having a Spelling Bee, and somehow, Dad was asked to spell the word “chocolate” for the class.

It was a long drive home for my parents.