Spelling Queen

Cue the music: ABBA's pop classic "Dancing Queen." I can hear the song in my head; if you need a refresher, click play below. I couldn't find a pure audio clip, so feel free to just listen as you continue to read.

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Talk about shining under pressure: I have to tell you about my daughter at the school spelling bee. It's one thing to watch your favorite sports star keep his cool in a stressful championship moment; it's quite another to watch your firstborn child stand in front of hundreds of spectators, battling alone before a microphone and a panel of judges.

Scene One: Oldest's Bedroom, the night before. I stop in to tell her goodnight, as usual, after tucking her two younger brothers into their respective bunks next door.

"I really don't know about this spelling bee tomorrow."

"Oh?"

"But my class is counting on me to represent them. So I know I have to do it. But otherwise I don't really want to anymore."

A pause while I recall my own visceral memories from elementary school spelling bees: the churning stomach, the blank mind, the breath-stopping elation, the abject dejection.

"Spelling bees are not just about spelling well," I begin slowly, carefully. "They are half about stage fright. If you can manage your nerves, you will do better than most."

We chat about breathing techniques, speaking slowly, and how silence on stage seems much longer than it really is. She seems to hear me. She is quiet and smiles. I pat her hair. I hope I've helped. Did I say too much? I say goodnight.

Scene Two: Four hundred eight-to-eleven year-olds seated on the floor of a gymnasium, one long row of parents and family in folding chairs at the back, fifteen somber students seated in a wide arc on a stage with two standing microphones, and three officiating adults at a central table in front of the stage.

Her first time up at the mic, Oldest spots me in the family row with one of her brothers on my lap and the other sitting at my feet; I lift my fist in a strong "I love you" sign. We are here for her. She smiles.

My prediction proves true for many of the students; they rush through, skipping letters, clearly flummoxed by the enormity of the situation. Others, more clear-headed, eventually confront a word beyond their purview. After a half-dozen rounds, only three are left: Persistent, who hammers at the words as if they are from a foreign language; Machine, who emits letters in an uncanny precision that bespeaks hours of memorization; and Oldest.

Ah, you should see her.

She is comfortable in her skin. She stands poised before the judges. Her thoughtful pronunciation of each word, before she begins to list its components, communicates her understanding of its meaning. Her voice is clear and matter-of-fact. This battle is between her and the word, nothing more.

Once, when the speaking judge clearly mispronounces Oldest's next word (repeatedly putting a "d" sound on the end of "thespian"), I almost jump out of my chair with outrage. But Oldest pronounces the noun correctly and proceeds to spell it. With no "d". Unbelievable.

After several more rounds, Persistent meets her match with a particularly obstinate word. Now it is down to Machine and Oldest. Memorization versus Understanding. Hundreds of students, who have been amazingly quiet, begin to rustle, like wind through leaves. How much longer?

The boys and I use our Montessori-learned sign language for applause several times, cheering Oldest on after each success with silent upraised waving hands, snowflakes fluttering silently.

By the time a simple mistake hands Machine the championship word, Oldest has clearly demonstrated that regardless of runner-up status, she is the Spelling Queen.

I am so proud of her, for never wavering, no matter the outcome. For saying "Great job!" to Machine, and "Good luck at District!" I am thankful, that in her first year at a new school, fifth grade, the terminal year, in a new city in a new state, she is at home in herself.

As for Oldest, she is thankful that she does not have to study for the District Spelling Bee. There are many other things she'd rather do. Cue the music, but change "Dancing" to "Spelling." You shine, girl. You shine.