Squeaker (or The Time I Blew My Debut as a Champion Speller)

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I shared a photo of myself recently on Instagram from highschool. My senior photo, in cap and gown (and National Honors Society sash).*

Being a student was my thing. I’m ever-curious about the details, and I’ve always been that way. Show me how it works. I’ll try to improve on it. (Or I’ll attempt to build my own version of it, and totally fail. Trying is also my thing.)

In elementary school I was a highly capable speller. I have an affinity for words and learned that early on. Words do such beautiful and grotesque deeds, and there were LOTS of words to read.

My parents also worked really hard to encourage my reading. I loved being tested and challenged at an early age. We found that at 7 years old I could properly spell college-level vocabulary.

My parents were proud and I was hooked.

My parents encouraged my appetite for books. Beverly Cleary’s Ramona series, Nancy Drew books, and fairytale anthologies. This consumption of words just made me hungrier.

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We moved to Missouri when I was 10, and my parents found a Catholic parish where we also attended school. Our classes weren’t big at all; I remember when I started there I was one of three girls.