#memorablemomentsineducation #23:
In sixth grade, I won the school spelling bee, but not until I had lost it.
The elementary spelling bee was a momentous event every year. probably because we got out of class for an hour or so. We all piled into the gym and cheered on the kids from our own class like following your favorite QB in your fantasy league–when they win, you win! As the oldest in the school, sixth graders got to finally sit on the steps at the back of the gym and lean back to really enjoy the spectacle of kids spelling. I’d like to believe these occasions were like the National Spelling Bee now broadcast on ESPN every year, but we were pretty simple spellers back in the 80s.
Megan Challis and I were locked in a final round of back-and-forth spelling. For every word she spelled correctly, I matched her wits with my own. Megan was my nemesis when it came to spelling–I’m pretty sure anyone who attended Blackbob (yep, still called that) Elementary would tell you she was the smartest kid in our grade…by far. And, while Megan was good at everything, I had just one party trick: remembering the order of letters in random words. As every good volley between Federer and Nadal eventually comes to an end, someone had to win this thing. I can’t remember what happened, but I do know I lost. Megan was crowned the champion again, and I stood in front of the entire school as first loser. Everyone filed out of the gym, sad they had to return to class. My mom appeared to console me and congratulate me.
Then, somewhere in the midst of finalizing the results, a teacher who’d been paying close attention alerted the principal to the fact she believed an error had been made–Megan had not won. (I can’t tell you what exactly happened, but the tricky word “unconscious” is mixed in my memories of it all.) After some discussion, Megan and I were back at it, spelling words, trying to figure out which result would be a fluke. In front my mom, Mr. Roberts, a teacher, and Megan, I eventually ended up winning. Our principal promised to announce the new results over the P.A. (though that never happened), and I went back to my classroom with my head held high.
Weeks later, Mr. Roberts and I went to lunch at the Mustache Cup on our way to the district spelling bee, where I was summarily trounced in the first round. I think having lunch with the principal was the best part of winning, though I must not have realized it at the time.
Looking back I wonder how beneficial this kind of academic competition really is. My son, who is leagues beyond me in the brains department, recently told me he had no interest in competing on a math team because he can’t stand answering questions fast in front of other people. He’s already figured out this may not be a transferable skill, so why risk the embarrassment? Good question. I’m sure I wouldn’t be sharing the story if I hadn’t won in the end. So next time you’re sitting in awe of the 12-year-old who can spell some Latin-based word for a metabolic disease that exists only in some small corner of the world, ask yourself what are we learning here?