My sweet Hunter came home from first grade today absolutely beaming. His class had a spelling bee where they were going to award medals. He REALLY wanted to win one. He was nervous because he'd been out sick and didn't know about the spelling bee until Wednesday. He just came bounding off of the school bus with a medal flailing around his neck.
I'm going to brag about Hunter for a second. I'm proud of his accomplishment. Probably because I'm a great speller and when I see misspelled words it makes me want to rip my face off. It's not that I won't like you if you can't spell. I mean, my husband can barely spell my name for crying out loud . . . and I still like him. And truthfully, I don't think good spelling has as much to do with effort as it does with genetics. I've always been able to spell. I don't recall any sort of special training for it . . . as far as I know there are no spelling training camps. And I'm going to be a little bit alarmed if someone informs me that there are. I can just look at words, and more often than not, know whether they're spelled correctly or not. I think Hunter has that gift.
So, in contrast to my post this morning . . . this skill makes complete sense to me. I know where it came from. This is how I thought genetics worked. The dancing . . . yeah, still confused.
"I'm so proud that I got this . . . even though I got beat by 3 girls." Hey, get used to it, buddy, I can STILL beat your dad at miniature golf.
"Do you know what word I missed!? Island! I don't know why there's an 's' in that word when it doesn't make any sound at all!" Welcome to the English language, sunshine, and the beginning of a whole truck load of things that make absolutely no sense whatsoever.
Good job, buddy! We're proud of your hard work!