As I get older, I realize that some tasks become more difficult. I don't play softball
any more, I don't stay out late any more, I can't even sleep late any more. In fact, a
buffet is now a waste of money!
However, I can live without the physical skills I never thought twice about as a
young man; it's the inability to do the mental tasks that drive me up a wall. Why can't
I remember where I put my glasses (yes, I wear now wear glasses)? Why do I walk
out of the house to go to work only to come back in to get my truck key? Why?
Why? Why?
Yet, the most simple of skills that I mastered as a child is slowly but steadily
slipping away -- SPELLING! You see I was a grammar school spelling champ. In fact,
most of the students in my school could spell quite well. I attended Roberdel
Grammar School along with maybe 165 students in 8 grades. We never had more
than 5 or 6 female teachers with some teachers instructing half grades as well as a full
grade. Once one of these ladies was your teacher, she was always was your teacher no
matter what grade you were in. First grade teacher Miss Willa Marks was always there
to give you motherly hugs or tie your shoe no matter what age you were while Mrs.
Kathleen Terry was always there to twist your ear about three 360s for a misbehaving
student no matter how old you were. Parents and teachers alike knew that at
Roberdel it took "a village to rear a child" long before Hillary informed the world. I'm
happy to say that I graduated from RHS (' 66) with 17 Roberdel Grammar School
friends who still had both ears and could still tie their shoes quite well in addition to
being to out spell most.
Oh, did I tell you the older I get the tougher it becomes to spell correctly? The
recent National Spelling Bee brought back memories of my most embarassing
moment in a third grade spelling bee. All 21 of us lined up at the front of the room as
Mrs. Griffin called out words from her master list. Mrs. Griffin was a kind, gentle
woman who could make the dumbest of us feel like a genius as long as we were
learning. Consequently, the first round of words was so easy even my first grade
brother Ken (RHS ' 68) could spell those words. That particular day I was fortunate
that I was in the coveted slot # 21 as we spelled left to right. You see your playground
bragging rights were based on how many were left standing when you sat down on a
mispelled word. Forget that you and the three illiterates to your right sat down on the
same word, you were still standing after they sat down; therefore, you were smarter.
One by one, each third grader confidently and quickly boomed out the correct spelling
as Mrs. Griffin worked her way down the line toward slot # 21. My chief competition
cousin Anne McDonald (either valedictorian or salutorian RHS ' 66) breezed through
her word as did cousins Judy McDonald (RHS ' 66) and Joe Ussery (RHS ' 66); the
McDonald bloodline carried the spelling gene at birth. My two best buddies Johnny
Sheppard (RHS ' 66) and Danny Baxley (RHS ' 66) (we were the Three Musketeers)
looked at me with Cheshire grins while they correctly spelled their words. Just as the
Grim Reaper was certain to swing the death sickle in life, so was Mrs. Griffin. Just
which third grader would wear the misspelled "scarlet letter" (D for Dummy) and
would be teased by every classmate on the playground would soon be determined.
The Death Sickle of Spelling was to swing that day for every Roberdel third grader
except one. The glory was to be given to the last one standing but God have mercy on
the soul of the first one to miss and have to spend an eternity or at least until the next
spelling bee in Playground Hell. I feared no word especially in the Mrs. Griffin's first
round. Yea, I had walked through the valley of the shadow of death in many spelling
bees and stood to brag about it at recess. Brenda Lampley(RHS ' 66), spelled her
word correctly as my turn grew closer and closer. Now if Billy Reynolds (RHS ' 66)
would only miss his word then I could stand beside the prettiest girl in the class until
she misspelled her word and had to sit down. I envisioned life just getting better and
better. Darn it, Billy didn't miss but it was finally my turn! With 20 of my classmates
still standing up and on base it was my turn at the plate. Bobby, Mighty Bobby, was at
bat to clean the bases. I knew that the on-deck batter (the guy at the other end of the
long line) was shaking in his shoes since Round 2 would actually be third grade
words. Mighty Bobby was at bat; joy in Mudville was only a spelling word away!
"Come on Mrs. Griffin, spit it out, I'm ready to 'go yard' 'take it out of the park'
'clean the bases' 'hit the grand slam.' “My mind was racing. "Cousin Anne for all
the male McDonalds since my Great-Great Grandpa Daniel first stepped off the boat
from the Isle of the Skye, Scotland. I am ready to prove that our male clan of
Scotchmen was more than just pure brawn."
"Moon. The moon glowed brightly through the trees. Moon."
"Moon? That's it? Why Dick, Jane, and even baby Sally played with Spot and Puff
by the light of the moon" I thought. Yet, what a perfect word for me to showcase my
skills and the latest spelling fad. The new third grade spelling sensation going around
was to shortcut your spelling with style. Think of any word with consecutively
repeating vowels or constants; for example, "feed" or "better." F-e-e-d or b-e-t-t-e-r
was so drab when one could say with so much flair and showmanship "f-double e-d"
or "b-e-double t-e-r." The spelling gods were truly smiling on me. I had just heard all
20 of my classmates correctly spell their word and not even one had a double vowel or
constant. I could just see the envy in the eyes of all my friends as they all awaited for
my cool spelling delivery of a word straight out of the first grade reader. The little
bantam was ready to crow!
"M-O-DOUBLE O-N!" I shouted. Boy, was I good or what? The champ had just
delivered his knockout punch. I silently exclaimed "Mrs. Griffin, move that 1st desk
on the 3rd row (yeah my desk) anywhere you want. I won't need it; I'll be standing for
a while!"
"I'm sorry Bobby that is wrong. Please sit down. Buck (Blakley RHS ' 66), spell
moon."
How could kind, gentle Mrs. Griffin turn into such a practical joker? Surely she
must be kidding. I looked around the room to see 20 sets of eyes staring at me with
shock and disbelief. My good buddy Richard Martin (RHS ' 66) lowered his head and
shook it condolingly. It wasn't until I heard Buck say "m-double o-n" and Mrs. Griffin
say "correct!" that I realized I was guilty of running my mouth without putting my
brain in gear as I made my way down the long gangplank and sat down in the 1st desk
on the 3rd row fighting back tears of disappointment. My full moon was too full that
day; it had one too many os. I clearly delivered that knockout punch right between
my own eyes. Mighty Bobby had struck out!
No matter what the sport or competition, the catch phrase of today is "you never
remember who finishes second." Well that day in the third grade, I can't remember
who finished second or even first as far as that goes. But I am positive who finished
last as I became an audience of one back in 1957. I did make a comeback from that
disaster as I rallied in the fifth grade to become the school champ (yes, I beat the
sixth, seventh, and eighth grade champs). Forget that I sat down on the first word in
the county championship as I had buried that third grade day of spelling infamy in my
mind forever. I was still Roberdel's champ as I did an about-face and returned
proudly to my empty seat. Bob was back, if at Roberdel only!
I thought that spelling would be a life long friend. Sometimes now it is, sometimes
now it isn't. I now approach spelling just like I do a buffet line. I select what I want
and can handle and not a spoonful or two or three of everything like I used to do in
my younger days. If I let my eyes outrun my stomach, I'll feel just as miserable as I
felt that day in the third grade when my mouth outran my brain. Thanks to the buffet
of vocabulary I picked up in Miss Osbourne's English classes at RHS, I can choose a
synonym I can spell in case I originally selected a word too large and complicated for
me to handle. I must keep my third grade reputation as a good s-p-e-l-double l-e-r
alive or is it m-o-double o-n??? My gosh, I'm getting old! Where did I put my
glasses? Those memories resurface time and time again whether it's eating a
moonpie or looking at a full moon ( that shooting star is actually that third o falling
through the sky); yes, precious childhood memories from growing up in
Rockingham, North Carolina - a small textile town in the South in the ' 50s & ' 60s.
| Could You Please Spell That? written by Bob McDonald |
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