on the last day of kindergarten things were coming together. all the letters of the alphabet had been learned, and on that last day of school Justin Howell combined four of those letters. He wrote them down on a sheet of yellow construction paper and told me that, in that order, those letters spelled "fuck".


WOW! my eyes widened with excitement. i looked at the letters, and i knew right away that it was true. well, i suspected it anyway. Justin had a habit of telling untruths, but this was different, and i believed him.


only five years old, and there i was, spelling the f-word. it was one of my favorite words, even then. All the action stars in the most popular Hollywood blockbusters of the time would use the word to signify to bad guys that they were about to be reckoned with.


my uncles used it in the telling of their funniest jokes. my mom and gramma would let it slip whenever they meant business. some evenings they meant business ten, twelve times each hour.


which made it all the more frustrating when i received spankings or time-outs for saying the word. how unfair! grown-ups using the word in a myriad of ways and variations, and if i uttered it just once after stubbing my toe on a table leg, i got a swat on the ass!


i wasn't allowed to say "ass" back then, either.


but nothing was ever said about me writing the words on a sheet of paper.


so on that last day of kindergarten after the last bell, i thanked Justin for the service he had provided and hurried out of the school. mom was waiting in front of the building to walk me home.


she asked how my last day was as we started to walk. i didn't hear her. i was spelling the word over and over in my head so i didn't forget it. i couldn't wait to get home and write it down. when mom asked a second time how my day was, i said passively, "okay."


i ran upstairs as soon as we walked in the front door. i climbed into my toy box and grabbed my 64 count pack of crayons. i drew the red crayon because it was my favorite color until i was fourteen, when it switched to black. then in giant red letters, all capitals, i spelled that notorious word. i held the sheet up in front of my face; i could feel my entire body tingle. it was marvelous!


needless to say, it was an achievement impossible for a young lad to keep to himself. damning all consequences, i ran the paper downstairs and delivered it directly into my gramma's hands.


needless to say, she had grampa deliver me a whoopin'. and when he told my mom why he'd done so, she delivered a second whoopin' and put me on time-out.


but even in that moment, with tears streaming down my cheeks and my ass searing with pain, it all seemed worth it. i felt a lot wiser just from knowing how to spell that word. i may have gotten in trouble, but at least i knew Justin Howell hadn't pulled one over on me. i knew i wouldn't have been given two ass-whoopings for spelling it wrong.