I was one of those kids

The pattern of my posts lately seems to be the following: I tell you about something I did recently and then somehow relate it back to some awkward/embarrassing childhood memories. This post is no different. Sunday night I watched the documentary Spellbound with some friends.

It follows 8 kids as they prepare for and compete in the national spelling be in Washington, DC. You can probably imagine the type of kid that would make it all the way to the national spelling bee. They’re not normal. I would say that they are highly intelligent, but if I’m not mistaken, insane spelling skills don’t necessarily translate to genius status. Eccentric seems like a more appropriate word. I want a follow up documentary in 60 years that shows what these kids are like in their 70’s when all their eccentricities are amplified. 60 fold.

Anyway, on to my childhood. I was probably well on my way to becoming one of those kids. My 4th grade year was the first year I could compete in the school spelling bee, and for some reason I became obsessed with preparing for the bee. I remember sitting at the kitchen table after school, writing out every word on the list 3 times. My mother would quiz me every night before bed. My work paid off and I won that bee. It was a crowning moment in my life up until that point. I even remember what I was wearing. A red sweater with thin yellow and green horizontal stripes. I was devastated when I found out that 4th grade winners couldn’t go on to district. Maybe it was for the better though.

There were other signs that I was not a normal little boy, intense enthusiasm for spelling bees aside. The first clue, and one of my earliest memories, was when my uncle told me it probably wasn’t a good idea to tuck my sweatshirt into my sweatpants.

I was also an immaculate housekeeper. My bedroom was always spotless and everything was always in its place. Even though it never got messy, I’d clean it EVERY Saturday. I vacuumed and dusted, especially my spelling bee trophy and piano trophies.

Another sign was the inordinate amount of time I spent on my hair in the morning before school. My younger sister will tell you that she grew up thinking it was normal for 13 year old boys to use a blow dryer, lots of hairspray and 20 minutes to do their hair. Once, in my 8th grade earth science class, a boy came up to me before class started and asked, “Dude, how much time do you spend on your hair?” It was apparent to me by the tone in his voice that however much time I was spending, he thought it was too much. I nonchalantly threw out a lowball answer that I thought would be much more normal. “I dunno, 10 minutes.” He stifled his laughter and walked away.

In my defense (perhaps), I think part of the reason it took so long was that I would also dance and sing into my hairbrush as I got ready and listened to the radio. I specifically remember singing and dancing to Man in the Mirror. It seemed appropriate. (RIP MJ)

Anyway, that’s probably enough memories. I have a two day training class for work starting tomorrow. The topic is “How to build support for your ideas”. If there are any role playing activities, I will go ape shit. I promise. I also have a ward campout this weekend. These activities may serve to dredge up more childhood memories to share. I know. You could only be so lucky.