Every summer, my family would visit my grandparents in Ohio. They lived in a nice neighborhood where the average age couldn't have been over 60. That's certainly what it felt like when I was a kid because there were never other kids to play with. Hence, my main source of entertainment was exploring the house and an occasional lap around the block. The house was a marvel because Nana was a borderline hoarder. The house was filled with cabinets of fragile china that would rattle around every time my sister and I ran by it—giving all the adults a mini heart attack.

The main attraction was always the basement. It had that classic horror movie eerie vibe to it. There was a steep, wooden, and creaky staircase that descended into the darkness and the only lights down there were a pair of lightbulbs hung from the ceiling. The floor was cold and dark metal and somehow always damp. It was a sharp contrast to the fuzzy built-in carpet that covered the rest of the house. Despite all that, I always got excited to venture down there to rummage through all of the knick knacks. There were boxes everywhere. In one corner there were piles of old children's books and toys that my mom must've played with when she was younger. Naturally as a kid, that was where I spent most of my time on these voyages. 

But one day I decided to go snooping around the cove. Out of the corner of my eye I caught their glimmer. A whole box of them. A box full of gold. I couldn't believe my eyes. I rushed over and opened the box to examine the treasure. They were trophies! A whole box full of them! I never knew that my mom was an athlete. I thought maybe they must've been my Uncle's, but they all had my mom's name inscribed on each of them. I screamed from the basement. "MOOOOOOOOOM!" She hurried down soon after my call.

"Yes love?"
"Are these yours?!"
"Ah, you found those,"
"I didn't know you played sports,"
"I didn't Adam, those are spelling bee trophies."

My eyes turned back to the chest. It was hard to read in the pit of the house. I held one up to the nearest light bulb. The inscription was clear: “Sharon Knode. Spelling Bee Champion.” 

I wish I could say that this realization made me excited, but it didn’t. At the time, I was so obsessed with athletics that I lost interest in her “nerdy” trophies and went back to the toy box. Years later, I heard my mom retell this story as “The Time My Son Almost Thought I Was Cool,” and that broke my heart. Especially, because it could not have been further from the truth. As a kid, loving sports was easy. I grew quickly so I had a leg up on my competition. It took me a much longer time to develop love for words. But now, words are what bring us together. My mom and I are always competing to finish the NYT mini faster than the other. She amazes me with how fast and effortlessly she can fill in the blanks, and I finally see what I missed all those years ago. She was always cool, I just wasn’t ready to understand why.