Somewhere between third and fifth grade, I took a particular spelling test in which there was a relatively short word that contained the letter “e.” My writing of a lowercase “e” often looks like a “c” as I do not give it the care that it much deserves (more on this, never).
After we had exchanged papers and finished the grading, the girl who graded mine had a question about this particular word containing the lowercase “e.” She discussed it with the teacher, and the teacher agreed: “c.”
I sat there thinking to myself, how could these two individuals honestly believe that I put a “c” in a word that most obviously needed an “e?” I lost a bit of respect for both of them that day. I mean, can you think of an instance where you would seriously mess up the spelling that bad? I can’t. It was in the middle of the word too (I wish I could remember the word).
[bcar, thcre, delcte, dcsign, elemcnt, carpcntry, expcrience, clevcr, clcver, elcctrical, cciling, preciscly, arca] - it just doesn’t work.
An update from January, 2022: this particular instance was a missed opportunity for growth, which I’m going to assume is why this seemingly insignificant aspect of my life is a memory I still occasionally reflect upon. Instead of just accepting my fate, it would have been a great opportunity to discuss the issue with my teacher. Instead, I stayed quiet. I stayed small. And the only growth that happened is a memory of what not to do again. Speak the fuck up, Justin, and yet, in a manner that wins the hearts of many.