You know what the Scripps National Spelling Bee is? Humbling. It’s humbling.

I spend a lot of my day writing. I write books, I write for NPR, I write texts, I write posts—and hey, I’m writing this. (Welcome, or welcome back, by the way.)

The Scripps National Spelling Bee reminds me every single time that the words I know would best be described as a smattering of the words that there are. A mere smattering! (I do know the word “smattering.” I like it.)

Note: I did look up the word “smattering” to confirm that I was using it correctly, because there are kinds of fools I am not afraid to be and kinds of fools I try to avoid being, and “person who uses word incorrectly in post about spelling bee” is the latter. Merriam-Webster confirms that “smattering” means “superficial piecemeal knowledge” or “a small scattered number or amount,” and I can in turn confirm that I exactly meant to imply that I have, on balance, a small scattered amount of knowledge of words, compared to all the words that there are.

If you are new to the Bee, here are the basics: It’s an annual competition for kids who are generally between nine and 15. They make their way through local and regional bees, and this year, 247 of them ended up at the National Spelling Bee in D.C. They come from all 50 states and D.C. (and beyond), and they’re sponsored by a fascinating variety of folks: newspapers, libraries, NFL teams, local organizations and businesses of all kinds—one speller this year is sponsored by WHYY in Philadelphia.

In the first round, which happened today, each of the 247 stepped to the microphone to make it through two questions, and they had to get both right to advance. One was a spelling word. If they got it right, they heard, “That’s correct.” If they got it wrong, they heard a little bell go “ding.”

It is a terrible “ding.” A bell has never been so sad unless it was bonging at a funeral. It is the Farewell Ding. The Ding of Doom.

Anyway. Enough about the Ding that Destroys Dreams, the Devil’s Ding. If you answered your spelling word correctly, you were asked a multiple-choice vocabulary question. (They added this part in 2021.) They might ask you, say, “The word ‘smattering’ means: (a) a small amount, (b) a meat sandwich, (c) a species of starfish.” And you would choose which definition is correct.

I had never watched this part of the competition before, and I found the vocabulary stuff quite revealing. You hear one of these kids spell, like, aniseikonia correctly (it’s a vision problem, by the way), and you just say, “Whoa.” But then you hear them miss the definition of a word that might be familiar to an adult, like “peruse” or “corollary,” and it reminds you that they really are just kids. They have learned a tremendous amount of specialized information about word origins and language that allows them to correctly spell an enormous number of words (it is not just rote memorization; there are too many words for that)—but they are nonetheless kids who may, in many cases, have kid vocabularies.

“Spell Bewusstseinslage” might be manageable for a speller who isn’t familiar with what “whimsical” means. Because they’re kids.

I love them all, by the way. Always. Immediately. For a whole variety of reasons. This morning, a young man by the name of Louis Avetis stepped to the microphone wearing—I do not mean to exaggerate here, but it must be said—the best suit I have ever seen. Louis is from Orlando, and he’s 13. According to his bio, he was named after Louis Armstrong, has perfect pitch, and is into fusion cooking. His suit was white with a large tropical floral print that also incorporates large capital letters in a serif font. You can see his picture over here, thank goodness, because you should see Louis’s suit before you continue with your day.

Today, Louis correctly spelled toril (the “cell from which a bull enters the bullring,” obviously, you rube, you dilettante), and then he nailed the definition of “antagonistic,” and thus did Louis pass the round. I am thinking of making him my life coach.

As I understand the rules, there are 167 kids who made it through their two questions today. They will take a test this afternoon, and the results of that test will narrow the field to roughly 100 spellers who will go into the quarterfinals tomorrow. So some sixty-plus kids who made it through today won’t be back tomorrow.

I think that for me, the National Spelling Bee is the mathematical opposite of a Bravo show like Summer House or any of your Real Housewives variations. When I watch those shows, I am entertained, but I cannot imagine actually rooting for anyone. I may think that in a particular argument, you were the less awful person, but that’s about as far as it goes. There are rarely enough poxes for all the houses, Summer, Winter and otherwise. I note a paucity of poxes, relative to demand.

When I watch the Spelling Bee, on the other hand, I cannot imagine not rooting for everyone. The nine-year-olds! Who are so valiant! The 15-year-olds! Who are on their last try (often after competing multiple times)! The ones who look nervous, like they’re going to throw up! The ones who look confident, like they’re about to nail a job interview! The ones who write words on the air with an invisible pen! The ones who type words on an invisible keyboard! The ones who seem to know the word, and then they don’t! The ones who seem not to know the word, and then they do!

I root for everyone. And I am rooting for everyone. Carry on, you bold young spellers. You all look great to me. And Louis, don’t go anywhere. I might need some advice about fashion or dinner.