My speling iss bade

I'm a writer by trade, so words are important to me. I have an affinity for the spoken word, and an appreciation of any smart, witty, or touching combo of words put together in poems or song lyrics.

But my true love is the written word. I relish it; to me, there is no greater joy than a new book, a comfy couch, and an afternoon all to myself to enjoy them. It is this love of words, and of reading, that shaped my childhood, and fed my ever-growing imagination. It's also what lead me into my chosen career, first as an editor, correcting everyone else's grammatical missteps, and then as a writer myself, twisting and joining phrases to share my thoughts with readers. (OK, so points off that my livelihood revolves around the very driest form of writing -- technical writing -- but hey, I make a living off words, so I guess it still counts.)

And so, when my young son picked up my love of reading, it filled my heart with gladness. His skill at math and science impressed me, but his love for books truly made me happy.

Until...the other shoe dropped. The spelling shoe, that is. I figured that exposure to the written word, actually seeing how words look on a page, would help him. It's definitely helped his vocabulary, but his spelling...not so much.

At first, spelling didn't matter much. That's what the kindergarten and first-grade teachers told me. Even the second grade teacher said it was okay to spell phonetically, but by third grade, I was beginning to worry. And fourth grade...oy, don't even get me started on that! It actually hurts me to look at his papers sometimes.

I thought it was just me, until a recent breakfast with friends and Mark's new Mad Libs book. He had a great time playing, until my friend Monica, who's a teacher, commented on Mark's spelling.

"We are gonna work on that spelling this summer!" she warned him, and he just sighed.

But he's been thinking about it all week. Tonight, he told me, "Monica says my spelling is terrocious."

"I think she said atrocious," I corrected, but he shook his head.

"No, she said terrocious."

"Is that a combination of terrible and atrocious?" I asked. "Because she's right!"

He gave me the evil eye.

"You're terrocious," he told me, and I just giggled. Then he stomped off to his room to pick a bedtime story.

Oh well. The spelling, with time (from Monica and I!), will improve. So for today, while it's terrocious, I will just be thankful that he loves to read.