Smart Mouth

A long, long time ago, I can still remember...

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...

Once upon a time...

When I was a young warthog!!!!!!!!

That was John McLean, Star Wars, a fairy tale, and the Lion King.

All great ways to start a story.

I was in elementary school. Maybe in first or second grade. This was probably before I requested to be called "Sabrina". That's like Walt Jr. just randomly deciding to call himself "Flynn". But whatever. That's all behind me, but I still occasionally think about it and subsequently laugh about it.

I think Little Allie did it for the lolz of Future Allie.

Anyway, I was a wee lass at one point. And a smart one at that. 

In kindergarten, I was tested for the gifted education program, and apparently I got in, but I decided to not do it for a couple years. At the time, I didn't see it as an "opportunity" for "growth" and "advancement" but rather as a terrifying event because riding on a rickety old bus that has seatbelts and a mean bus driver to go to a school that's unfamiliar and spend all day with kids you don't know and read TIME for Kids is really REALLY scary for a six year old. 

And this is one of the reasons why I love the band Frightened Rabbit so much. 

In the words of Scott Hutchison on why the band is called Frightened Rabbit:

"I was a solo act and, unfortunately, Scott Hutchison is not a catchy band name at all. I thought of Frightened Rabbit because it was a nickname given to me by my mum when I was younger. I was incredibly shy as a child, almost chronically so. My parents would take me to their friends' houses and I'd be expected to play with their kids -- I guess the idea was to socialize me -- but I had no interest. These kids weren't my friends.Why did I have to play with them? I'd end up just sitting silently by myself. So out of that, my mum called me her frightened rabbit." 

I love when I find out that other people are introverted like me.

I cried a lot about having to go once a week to this scary school with scary people, and I finally got out of it until my friends were admitted to the program with me in 3rd grade.

But I did cry a lot. 

A lot, a lot.

More on that later.

So anyway, at the ripe old age of six, I was labeled a "smart girl" and a "joy to teach", etc, and so on and so forth. Somewhere along the way, someone thought it would be a good idea to put me in the school-wide spelling bee. 

I was pretty good at spelling. Sounding things out. I knew how letters worked, even the silent ones. I even knew pneumonia started with a P. It was all good.

But I had this extreme paranoia stage fright, and thinking of spelling words in front a full cafeteria tied my s-t-o-m-a-c-h into n-o-t-s. 

Whoops, I mean k-n-o-t-s. 

My dad suggested closing my eyes and focusing on spelling the word instead of all those dead eyes watching and waiting for me to fail.

That might have worked, if it hadn't have been for that dang microphone which projected and amplified my quivering voice all over Perry, Georgia.

So, it came my turn, I stood up, said the word, started crying, spelled the word correctly, said the word, sat down.

And everybody just had this weird expression on their face. One of like pity and curiosity and worry and amusement. 

It was strange. 

It's like the kind of expression you have on your face when you accidentally throw a Frisbee square into your nephew's forehead.

#beentheredonethat

It's like they couldn't figure out that I had a stage fright SO INTENSE that it made me burst into tears.

But it was also amusing because I was crying...at a spelling bee.

And then my second turn came around, and I failed so hard. I don't even remember what the word was, but I definitely missed a letter or eight. However, instead of feeling defeated and sad, I was actually relieved and happy that I could just chill and relax and wait for the thing to be over and not have to stand up and talk anymore.

Like a frightened rabbit.

For years after that, I was no longer just the "smart girl". I was "the smart girl that cried at the spelling bee".

The whole reason of me telling you this story is this:

I remember the winner of said spelling bee was rewarded with a shiny, sparkly, brand spanking new Merriam Webster's hardback dictionary. They took pictures with the book for the newspaper and yearbook and everything. 

I just think it's ironic that the winner of the spelling bee gets the dictionary. 

I mean, don't the losers need it so much more?

While I'm alive, I'll make tiny changes to earth,

TWS

Head Rolls Off; Frightened Rabbit