(Hey guys! It’s Memoir Monday! Everyone should know what to do, just steal my little button code down there, then paste it onto the Edit HTML section on your post. Type up a memoir, spank yourself a little, and call it a win! The only rule? It must be true. So go on! Get you some!)
I’ve never really performed well under pressure.
“No Travis. It goes like this.”
“No, not like that. Like this.”
“You can’t put your hand there. It won’t work right.”
“YOU PINCHED ME!”
And that’s just trying to take a bra off of The Missus.
Anyway, I just don’t perform well. Today we’re going to talk about how this little handicap reared its ugly head in not one, but two spelling bees in my life.
The first takes place when I was in the first grade. I was a smart little bugger, and I wanted to show it off to everyone. We had these books that we had to read to help get us reading the right way, and me and another kid just kind of took off with them. It’s turned into a lifelong love of all things literary, and also a penchant for proper spelling and grammar.
We had our class spelling bee, and I don’t mind tellin ya, I smoked those fools. No one even had a real chance. This lead us to the all school spelling bee, to see who would represent us in the county spelling bee. Being in the first grade, I was the youngest participant, and was also chosen to go first. It was a fine day. My mother was in attendance, and I was gonna strut my stuff.
They called my name. I boldly stepped forward. “Give me my word, bitches.” (I totally didn’t say that, although one time in the first grade I said the “F” word after a kid spelled it when the teacher was out of the room. That’s another blog though.)
“Throw. T-H-O-W. Throw.”
I spelled it so fast, I made their heads spin. That’s what they get for giving me such an easy word. Who are they? Who did they think they were dealing with? That’s right, I’m Travis Sloat. I spell stuff for fun. Throw. Pshaw. Nothin doin.
“I’m sorry, that’s incorrect.”
Turns out, there is an R in throw. Yeah…
Fast forward to my 7th grade year. I have made a comeback of sorts, and I am in the all school spelling bee once again. I don’t remember the word I got to win it, I only know that I won it. This won me a seat on the county spelling bee, and also an afternoon out on the town with my old first grade teacher, who was the coordinator of said bee.
We had our pizza, then we headed to county. I was stoked. I was ready. I was brimming with knowledge, my mind saturated with spellings of veterinarian and guarantee and words of that ilk that could throw you so far for a loop that you had no idea if they were spelled with 32 “A’s” or “E’s.”
I lined up. I wasn’t first. Woo. Good times.
It came down the line. Finally, it was my turn. I was motivated. I was representing my school. My dear mother was there. It was go time.
“I’m sorry, that’s incorrect.”
WHAT?!?!? I knew. I knew right away that friggin second S didn’t go there. To this day, I have no idea why I added it. The silence in between S’s were the moments that I was looking at the judges faces, hoping I could get some clue as to whether or not I was done. I was very good at reading expressions. They gave me nothing. Nothing at all.
Wait. They gave me humiliation.
Other walks down the Memoir Monday Lane…
Adrienzgirl’s A Sign, A Drunk, And A Po-Po
Daffy’s I Wanna Pet It!