I won so many spelling bees in elementary school. Certificates with my name on them, little prizes of ice-cream scented erasers.
I loved spelling. It was ordered and rote and made sense to me even when it did not. Bough, ought, caught.
I was indignant when anyone else won. I felt spelling bees were my calling. I took the used workbooks home, the ones I’d completed week after week during the school year.