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| Speller extraordinaire |
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| Speller less extraordinaire |
Our second son is, in many ways, like his father.
It's a good thing.
One of the most notable is his ability to spell.
Anything. Any time.
It's a gift.
I should mention, here, that I don't have this gift.
Enough said . . .
It was the early 80's. My brother, Blair, was working on his Bachelor's degree in Engineering.
We had a computer.
Which he visited.
Often.
Our computer was in our eight-year-old second son, Erik's room.
Blair would work there by the light of a single lamp. We would hear the clicking of the keys late into the night.
On this occasion, Erik was supposed to be sleeping.
He wasn't.
Occasionally, the keyboard sounds would stop and I would hear the brief sound of voices.
Then the clicking would resume.
Finally, Erik came out of the room, needing a drink of water.
I was tidying the kitchen.
He moved close to me.
"Mom," he whispered. "Uncle Blair can't spell."
Ah. The occasional sound of voices was explained. Blair was consulting with his spell-checker.
It must have worked because he went on to achieve a doctorate in Engineering.
Okay, I admit that today's sophisticated spell-checker programs are probably more efficient and more easily accessible.
And don't need their sleep.
But none of those programs have personality. And certainly aren't as cute.
Yep. Progress isn't always progress.
