Many of us have vivid memories of the school spelling bee: that feeling of being all alone with only your wits and instinct to tackle a word you have to spell out loud in front of your classmates, teachers and all of humanity. (At least, that’s what it felt like.)
I was a classic middle-of-the-pack speller. I remember making it through a few rounds in my third-grade home classroom in Onalaska before taking my seat and watching the real spellers duke it out.
Last week I had the opportunity to watch two rounds of the 29th annual Chehalis Kiwanis Spelling Bee at Olympic Elementary School in Chehalis, as the top spellers of the fifth grade from each classroom battled it down to their top five finalists. Then a few days later, the top five spellers from the fourth and fifth grades competed to be the top speller in the school.
These were the real spellers of 2019.
The top five spellers would have their names inscribed on a giant plaque hanging in the hallway at the entrance to the school, with winners dating back to 1990. Immortality and fame. The stakes were high.The battle was on.
Every kid on the campus filed into the gymnasium and took their seats in the bleachers. They were quiet and respectful observers for the hour-long competition, with appropriately enthusiastic and sympathetic responses for both the “thrill of victory and the agony of defeat” moments, as the old Wide World of Sports introduction would put it.
And this was a sporting event.
The principal announced each competitor in a booming voice, like a contender taking the field. There was silence as each speller attempted his or her word.
The judges (several teachers) sat with the list of words and an enormous dictionary volume at a table near the kids.
One young competitor was clearly thrilled to be there. She gasped in excitement after each successful attempt, clutching her chest in delight and mouthing words of shocked delight to her mother in the audience.
Training was clearly important. As the words cycled upward in difficulty, you could tell the kids who had spent weeks studying — their confidence in rat-a-tatting out the proper letters was remarkable.
It was good to see the top spellers give each other encouraging smiles after a strong response, even though they were competitors.
Whenever an attempt didn’t go well, the audience clapped as the child took the long, lonely walk across the gym floor to the front bleacher. There, the principal showed them the proper spelling of the word and offered friendly consolation that inevitably led to smiles on the faces that had been sad a few moments before.
I had to smile when my daughter was given the word “humorous.” We had practiced that word, and I suggested she ask for a definition or its use in a sentence, just to make sure they were asking for the “ha ha” version of the word, and not its soundalike, “humerus,” the long bone in your arm.
The words became challenging. Some of the late-stage stumpers would have certainly had me making that long walk to the bench, especially when I was 10 or 11 years old.
I’ll ask you: while being watched by a couple hundred of your peers, could you spell resilient, substantiate or integrity? How about abbreviate, precocious, abdicate or pretentious?
I love seeing kids take hard work and honest competition seriously. The kids at this school spent weeks quizzing each other in the hallways leading up to this competition.
After watching a contest like this, you know that we have a lot of great kids out there, schools that are doing it right in encouraging their good-natured competitive drive, and community groups like that Kiwanis that are supporting this good work.
I’m still not the best speller, but even I know, that’s clearly how you spell success.
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Brian Mittge over-relies on spell check but bravely fights autocorrect fails from his home in rural Chehalis. Drop him a line at brianmittge@hotmail.com.
