Did He Spell It Right?

There were 11 kids in our family.

Six girls. Five boys.

Nancy, Billy, John, Susan, Gina, Mary, Tisha, Barney, Mike, Sally and Tom.

Yup. Catholic.

Mike was #9.

And Mike couldn’t spell.

The nuns tried everything—extra help, after-school drills, flashcards.

Nothing worked.

Finally, Mom hired a private tutor.

After a few weeks, there were signs of progress.

Maybe Mike was finally getting it.

Then came Halloween.

Somehow, Mike got his hands on a can of white spray paint.

And for reasons known only to a young boy on Halloween, he spray-painted a very bad word across the brick columns of our neighbor’s brand-new house.

There were two problems.

Mike was still a lousy speller.

And an even worse getaway driver.

The neighbors saw him.

A short time later, they were pounding on our front door.

“Where are your parents? We need to talk to them—NOW!”

Mom and Dad were in their bedroom.

Door locked.

This was standard operating procedure whenever life with 11 children reached DEFCON 2.

“Mom! Dad! The neighbors are here.

And they’re really mad.”

Mom and Dad had a system for situations like this.

They flipped a coin.

Mom lost.

She opened the door.

The neighbors exploded.

“How could you let your child use language like that? Spray-painted on our brand-new brick! Our children don’t even know words like that!”

Mom stood quietly and let them finish.

Then, after raising 11 children, she asked the only question that really mattered:

“Did he spell it right?”