In lieu of posting something interesting or funny occurring in to me or because of me in my life (I am finish final exams, there is nothing exciting to report), I am going to retell a memory I had from grade school.
Way back in the 1990s, when I was the innocent age of nine and pondering nothing more than recess and 3rd grade art projects, my brother Matt was in kindergarten at the same school. Matthew, shy and reserved, was a decent little boy (and then he grew up) at the tender age of six. Matthew, though he proved to be smart enough, was not the best speller in his kindergarten class. This day in history would prove as much.
I remember it was a warm day, probably spring, and the principal quietly interrupted my class to ask permission to speak with me for a few minutes. I slid out of my desk, wandered among the students, and slipped out of the classroom. Standing with the principal in the hallway was the school psychologist.
“Rachel,” the principal asked pleasantly, her brows furrowed, unmasking her concern, “do you know what Matthew brought to school today?”
Lady, I barely knew if my shoes matched in third grade. How would I know what my brother was doing?
“Nope!” I eagerly replied.
“Oh,” she said, casting her eyes downward and then over to the school psychologist, who seemed to reflect the gravity of the situation in her posture and pursed lips, “well, I think I should tell you.”
Before I finish this story, I need to preface why you needed to know Matt’s poor spelling abilities. On that day in kindergarten history, it was “n” day for show and tell.
“Today, Matt brought a knife to school. Did you know this?” She peered at me through her beady eyes, as if I held the answers to her worldly question.
“Uh, no. Why did he bring a knife if today is ‘n‘ day?” I retorted.
That was the principal question they sought to answer. Why would a kindergartner whose mother organized his backpack every morning slip a butter knife in a bring it to school that day? And how, at that?
“Because I thought ‘knife‘ started with an ‘n!'” Matt later cried out through tears.
Poor kid. Just trying to be six. And a bad speller.