JUNE, 2020 2ND PLACE WINNER SPELLING WORDS BY TIA COLBORNE

When I was seven, my teacher decided I needed help with spelling. Each week she sent home books to read and a list of words to spell.

The burden of helping me belonged to my father. He appreciated words. He was the king of the contraband ones: the B’s and the S’s and the GD’s and the F’s. We weren't permitted to use these words at home, definitely not in public, and especially not in front of Grandma.

One Thursday, a list of ten ‘-ck’ words stood between me and playtime. I spun on the tall chair at the island in our kitchen while my dad grasped at the last thread of his patience. Desperate to end the torture for us both, he blurted, “If you spell all of these words right, I’ll give you a prize.”

“Can I say a word?”

“Sure,” he said, then reconsidered, “Wait, what word?” 

“It starts with an F,” I said with a devilish smirk.

He pressed his lips together and frowned.

“You said ‘sure.’” I had him on a technicality.

“Fine. But don’t tell your mother.”

I sat up tall. We went back and forth.

“Rack.”

“R-A-C-K.”

“Truck.”

“T-R-U-C-K.”

And so on, all the way down to chicken.

“C-H-I-C-K-E-N.”

Perfect. Ten out of ten.

“You may have your reward,” said my dad, like a king to his valiant knight. My father had both won and lost the battle.

Standing feet apart, hands on hips, chin up, I said it with purpose. I said it with pride. I said it with the knowledge that my mother couldn’t punish me. I earned it, fair and square. I didn’t yell it. I wasn’t apologetic. I just said it. I owned it.

And then I got an A in spelling.