The Chances

I want to take you back, if I may, to a time when life was care free, calories weren't counted, and gasoline cost just over a dollar, though you probably could have cared less. Go back with me to those magical elementary school years, specifically to the life-defining 3rd and 4th grades. I would like to share with you a story, mostly true with some probable embellishment. I am going off my memory of 15 years ago after all and there are obviously going to be some black spots where some color is needed.

I started my third grade year off with a bang. I entered class fashionably late, meandered straight up to my teacher, kicked her in the shin and told her she could expect more of that as the year progressed. We lived in Maryville, TN at the time and I had a controlling share of Sam Houston Elementary. I basically ran the school. The teachers knew it, the students knew it, the principal knew it. What I said went, and went when I said it would. My school life was a breeze. I brought in my Game Boy most days and played Riddick Bowe Boxing while the other students slaved away at their school work. I came in an hour late, left an hour early, and took a two hour lunch break. Life was good.

I received news late that fall by way of my parental units that we would be moving to Chattaboogie, TN (that's Chattanooga) over Christmas break. This was going to be a problem. This could also be read as: Little fish in a big pond. I would be entering into a world of unknown. Where previously I had ruled with an iron fist, I would be no more than a pauper at this new school. But perhaps this may be a good thing. I was tired of running everything. Having to figure out where everyone should be and what everyone should do for an entire school is a lot for a third grader to handle. Maybe this transition could offer a Chance (pun intended) for a new beginning.

Well I packed up my game and headed out west (yes that is a Kid Rock lyric, and yes, Chattaboogie is west of Maryville, albeit southwest, it's still west). It was a harsh Chattaboogie valley winter and when I arrived I could tell immediately that the town was missing something, but exactly what I had yet do determine. I entered McConnell Elementary school on the first day back from Christmas break with determination in my mind and trepidation in my heart. As I walked to my classroom I couldn't help but notice the sadness that was crawling through the halls almost as slowly as I was.

I walked into my class, ready to be blasted for the fact that my face very much resembled a Chinese beaver. In my defense, I looked much more like a Canadian woodchuck than a Chinese beaver. I did, admittedly, have extremely large buckteeth and a diabolical overbite. But, to my surprise, there were no ethnic slurs thrown my way, no laughs at my expense. Just a warm, Chattaboogie welcome. And as I began to play with my new friends and learn more about who they were, it slowly began to dawn on me what they and the rest of the town were missing: A Spelling Bee Hero.

With the 3rd grade spelling bee tryouts just weeks away, I realized that this was the chance (no pun intended) that I needed. So I waited. And when tryouts finally came around, I made quick work of the rest of my classmates to claim the number one spot going into the Bee. I spent the next few weeks in preparation as I cleared my mind through yoga, tai chi, fitness swimming, and gardening. At last the Bee arrived and I was ready. I walked into the school auditorium with the weight of my classmates and the rest of the community on my shoulders. What they needed was a Spelling Bee Hero and I was ready to deliver. I strolled onto the stage confident and after an arduous 3 hour battle with 15 other 3rd graders, I left the Bee feeling cheated with a 3rd place finish. I was congratulated by my peers and the rest of the community but I knew in my heart what I could see in their faces. I had failed them. They had been waiting for Batman and I gave them Robin. They longed for Darkwing Duck and I gave them Scrooge. They needed Sherlock Holmes but I gave them Dr. Watson.

I went into hiding over the next year. I came into town only when I had to and usually by aid of moonlight. Embarrassment is not the right word. I was shamed. I had single-handedly crushed thousands of hopes and dreams. And the only thing I could do was slink down into oblivion until I was only a memory. I killed squirrels and rabbits for nourishment and developed my own system of water purification using tree bark and goat hair. I lay in waiting the rest of that fateful year knowing full well that I had only one Chance (you decide if the pun was intended) to make things right.

Fourth grade arrived just in time to find me the youngest person in history to have grown a full beard. I was handed a razor on my entrance to school and I promptly disposed of my Robinson Crusoe-esque look for a more Christopher Robin-like appeal. I sat in the back of my class and talked to no-one and the favor was returned. I breathed only when I needed to and dared not make eye contact with anyone because I was too afraid of what I would see. The disappointment I had left them with the previous year had not faded and had made itself evident in their tear-stained faces.

A few months later the announcement I had been longing for was made. The 4th grade spelling bee was drawing nigh and it was time for each class to have a spell-off to decide who would represent their class in The Bee. My teacher, Mrs. Frankenburg, called out for any who would dare to enter into the class spell-off to stand up and make their way to the front of the class. All eyes were on me. I knew they would be and in fact this was indeed the very moment I had been dreaming of since my last nightmarish spelling bee adventure. They didn't have to say a word. Their body language spelled it out clearly for me. They still did not have the hero and the hope that they needed. They were tired, worn out and had little left to offer. And I was ready to finally be their hero. I had learned from my past mistakes and was ready to bring them the happiness they so desperately longed for and deserved.

I stood as their gazes fixed upon my valiant and undaunted stature. I looked so deeply into their eyes that most had to turn away. I knew that they needed reassurance and words of encouragement, and that's exactly what I gave them. There are some things said that are forever remembered. Some are immediately forgotten. What I gave them was sure to be passed on for generations to come: "You have forgotten who you are and so have forgotten me. Look inside yourself. You are more than what you have become. We must take our places in the great Circle of Life. Remember who you are. Remember..." [Yes that was a Lion King quote].

A class spell-off is not really the best description of the onslaught of flawless and undefiled spelling that ensued. I knew where my place was and would not stop until I stood in it, on it, and through it. Finally I knew that they once again believed. They believed in something that was bigger than they were, that was bigger than I was. I was ready for victory and so were they.

Much like the silence between the field goal kicker and the rest of his football team moments before his attempt to win the game so myself and my classmates sat for the remaining days before the Bee. The rest of the community had gotten wind of my re-emergence into the world of competitive spelling and the city was, for the first time in a long time, abuzz with excitement. And the day of the Bee finally came.

I spent that morning managing my fresh chili-bowl haircut and focusing myself for what I knew was going to be a bloody spelling crusade. As I marched into the auditorium flashbacks of darker days flooded my mind. I pushed them out and remained focused on my task at hand. The place was filled to the brim with students, parents and families with one thing in common: A hope for a better life. And I knew their hopes rested entirely on my shoulders. I pointed to my classmates as I shot up the stairs, onto the stage, and took my seat amidst the city's best and brightest 4th graders.

It wasn't long before my number was called. I strode valiantly up to the microphone and everyone held their breath as they waited for my first word. "Admission" came a dark voice from behind a desk and stack of dictionaries. "Your word is 'admission'" it cackled again. I smiled, knowing that I would survive the first round and I could see the relief on the face of the entire city. "A" I began. "D" I continued on. They had been waiting for an entire year and I was finally going to deliver. "M-i-t-i-o-n" I said with confidence and even a touch of humility. "A-d-m-i-t-i-o-n" I thought in my head. "What a beautiful and touching word." I turned to go back to my seat and hear the applaud of thousands. And then I heard the bell. And my world came crashing down. And the hopes, the dreams, the ambitions of thousands went, along with mine, right out the "admition" window.

The sun still rises and sets in the sleepy little town of Chattaboogie. The wind still blows and the birds still chirp. And the people still wait on their Spelling Bee Hero.

We had to do a little rat killin' tonight and when we got back home Carrie suggested we spruce up a little bit. So we headed to the kitchen, ready to wage war on a few odd dishes that didn't make it to the washing machine for some even odder reasons that no one knows. And then it hit me. What we needed was not to enter into an episodic cleaning convulsion. Neither did we need to any longer stress over the capitulations of the day. What we needed was an amiable and calming (if not somewhat exotic) game of Keep Up The Bag.

The goal of Keep Up The Bag is simple, obvious, and eloquent: Keep a designated plastic grocery bag from touching the ground for an allotted amount of time. A spin off of the more simple and catchier childhood game Keep Up The Balloon, Keep Up The Bag combines hand-eye coordination with foot-ground coordination to bring you a challenging and jovial game that will test your wit, monitor your reflexes, develop your teamwork skills, and is sure to delight even the most begrudged of folk.

To play Keep Up The Bag, kindly find a partner and together select your favorite grocery bag. Agree upon an amount of time to play (noobs should start off with 30 seconds) and set a timer for the predetermined time. The taller partner should begin with the bag. Start the timer and hit the bag up into the air. Take turns hitting the bag, taking care to not allow it to touch the ground. You may not hit the bag twice in a row. If you make a bad hit on the bag it is up to your partner to redeem your folly. Should either you or your partner hit the bag twice in a row, or, at any time during play should the bag touch the ground, the bag wins.

What are you waiting for? Grab a partner, get a bag, and let the smiles begin!