The Spelling Bee

One of the most rewarding activities I took part of in my elementary and middle school years all began the day in November when my first grade teacher sent home a four hundred fifty word spelling list. Of course, it was optional to participate in the school Spelling Bee, but the teacher made it known that the students placing first and second would continue on to an interschool Spelling Bee. Having a competitive interest, I took home the three pages filled with words I had only ever heard of, and that night I began years of nights filled with the methodical exchange between my mother and I of thousands of words and the letters that give each word its individuality.

It was difficult at first, hearing words without meaning, only to realize that their spellings did not correspond to their pronunciation in any coherent way. Why would a ‘g’ sound like a ‘j’ in ‘angel’ but not in ‘angle’? It made no sense in my mind, but I eventually discovered discreet patterns that revealed the order of language. Each word learned represented another secret learned about the innumerable number of words comprising the English language.

I took first place in that year’s Spelling Bee, at both the school and district settings in February. I knew every word on those pages, as well as how to spell them. Every night we had practiced, and by the time the competition came around, I was prepared, perhaps a little more prepared than most of the other first graders participating. In the end, there were only two competitors left: me and one other boy who knew the words as well as I did. We went through fifty-two rounds, him spelling a word, me spelling one, him, me, an endless cycle of letters filling up their places to create new words. At long last, after over an hour of constant spelling, my opponent misspelled golden. “Golden, g-o-l-d-a-n, golden,” he had said. That was incorrect. I walked up to the X marked on the floor in front of the Spelling Master. She told me to spell the word golden. Golden, g-o-l-d-e-n, golden. That was correct. I just had one more word to spell. The word she said next was gorilla. I spelled it correctly, and it was over. I had won first place in the Spelling Bee.

It was not until the November of that year that I even dreamed about spelling more words. Again, the three pages of words were sent home, this time gauged for a student a year older and a year more intelligent. Most every night, the ceaseless flow of words and letters sounded in our house, whether during commercial breaks or just before going to bed. Once again, I knew the words, every one; I knew their secrets, why each letter was important, why mixing up even one letter would change the substance of the word. I was just as prepared as the year before.

However, I ranked second at the district bee that year. Third grade I ranked fourth, and the following year I only achieved sixth. Despite the discouragement of each year’s loss, my determination to excel only heightened. Now, studying these words was not about simply learning random organizations of twenty-six letters that each correlated with a spoken word, but it had become learning what the words were, why a word is spelled with silent letters, discovering anomalies. My desire to learn overshadowed my competitive nature, so in spite of moving farther and farther away from first place, I kept on spelling. The Spelling Bee was no longer about getting first but about learning, about learning the very words that have been used for centuries, the words that serve as the foundation for society.

This did not mean that I had no desire to win. Being first at something, being the best at a subject, is as much of a morale booster as perfect marks are. Thus, the constant exchange of word and letters in the car to school, at my brother’s basketball game, and in any setting that allowed communication continued for those four months that the lists were available. The practice served as a stress relief, once I knew the words well enough, and the words repeatedly spelled each night began to form personalities and characteristics that helped me remember their composition. Each word was a friend, and I would say who they were in a brief concerto before moving on to the next one. However, as each year passed by, the words increased in difficulty and decreased in familiarity.

That is probably why it was so surprising that I took first place again after three years of not doing so. It was my fifth grade year, four years after my first victory, but this accomplishment took me one step further than it had my first year.

Just as baby bird is ignorant of the vastness of the sky until he learns to fly, so was I ignorant of the vastness of the Spelling Bee. My first place brought me into a competition of the first and second place winners of the fifth through eighth grades. I had seen this elevated competition in previous years, though I never understood why it occurred. Yet here I was, sitting on a stage in front of all the district spellers and their parents, spelling into a microphone.

Somehow, I managed to place second. All the words I received I had either studied or knew from reading. I thought my adventure was over at that point, but it had only begun. That is when I learned that there is something even beyond the sky. I was going to the regional spelling bee.

My mother and I had no clue what to study. Surely, we would not be given the same words we had just been spelling for four months! It was not until after arriving at the location for the Northwest Regional Spelling Bee that we discovered that not only would the fifth grade list be used, but also the sixth, seventh, and eighth grade words, and the top four would continue on to the National Spelling Bee in Washington D. C.

I made it to thirteenth place out of forty, misspelling ‘altiplano.’ I joined my mother for the rest of the bee, admiring each student who correctly spelled their words, words I had never heard of before. I would spell along with them to see if, had I received that word, I would have spelled it correctly. To put it simply, I would never have made it.

It was directly after this competition, when the four qualifiers for nationals were standing on the stage, that I told my mother something that gave me even more reason to practice the spelling words, a single phrase that pushed me to be better than I was before, a sentence that embodied my thirst for learning and competition, a statement that gave me reason, purpose, and impetus to continue. I said something that, without my initial interest four years previously, would never have surfaced, something an achievement years ago brought forth. “Mom, I want to be up there next year.”

I was. I stood up where the second place speller had stood on the day I resolved to do my best. Practicing every possible minute, while walking the dog or even doing homework, I learned to identify every word in all the lists, from fifth to eighth grade. I had mastered eighteen hundred words, most of which I could not even guess the definition. Yet, for some reason or another, I would come across these strange, abstract words in the books I would read, or hear them spoken on the news, or even coming from my own mouth. I had an ambitious resolve to make it that much further, to achieve that much more. And I did, three times in a row.

For the next three years, from my sixth to eighth grade years, I was one of the four representatives to the National Spelling Bee from the Northwest region, the final two years achieving first in regionals. It was the culmination of hours upon hours of studying hundreds upon hundreds of words. Out of the forty-six contestants, I was placed thirty-seventh, thirty-sixth, and nineteenth respectively. Each year’s improvement bolstered my confidence and determination to study that much harder and go that much further. I was fine with misspelling a word: It meant that I had that much more to learn for the next year, but it also gave me a vantage point to be able to look back and see how far I had made it and how much I had accomplished. So, when I forgot that second ‘s’ in fissiparous my first year at nationals, I sat down with my parents, took out a pen and notebook, and began writing down all the words spelled after me. Even though I was out of the competition, I was still participating. The capacity to learn was still there, and I took full advantage of it.

Over eight winters, not to mention the four springs, my life was consumed by words, words that form ideas, words that make a difference, and they made a difference in my life. These words gave me confidence to excel; they gave me determination to succeed; they gave me the opportunity to learn. From the time I correctly spelled ‘gorilla’ to the time I incorrectly spelled ‘intermontane,’ I had a goal in mind, and through hard work, countless frustrating nights of difficult words whose secrets eluded me, and an unwavering determination through a perpetually positive attitude, I achieved that goal. This goal was not set by a placement or by how far I may have gone. This goal was not a tangible reality or a physical trophy or ribbon. This goal was an idea, an idea that I would do my best, no matter what the outcome would be. This race was not about finishing first. It was about running the entire race without stopping, eventually crossing the finish line, and being able to look back at the track not to see how many people were behind me but to see just how far I had come.

And I had come a long way since that November day in first grade when it all started.