This is my final version of the first article I submitted to The Bison for this year. Anything in italics was removed by the Bison editorial staff or some higher-up after my submission. (Added Monday, September 22: I also wrote in why each bit was edited, just so you know.)

‘Vexillology’ not a word for the weak

Have you ever heard the expression “as dangerous as giving a toddler a loaded gun”? It’s not dangerous because the kid is especially malicious, or because he wants to knock over a bank, but because he doesn’t quite realize what kind of damage he can do with the instrument in his hand. Well, my name is Aaron. I’m two years old, and this is a .44 Magnum. [The reasons for this edit are listed on the main page's archives on the entry for Sunday, September 7, 2003]
Now, I know this is going to surprise a lot of you out there, but I’m a bit of a nerd. How could the guy that did a chapel devo about superheroes be a nerd? Shocking.
So, being a nerd, I didn’t exactly have what we like to call much of a “social life” throughout high school. Well, I was a bit of a geek in junior high, too… as well as elementary school. For what it’s worth, I was a dork in pre-school.
“What’s that weird Aaron boy doing?”
“He built a fort out of all the nap mats and is using the oranges and apples from snack time as hand grenades.”
(I eventually had to come out because I’d eaten all my ammunition supplies.)
Now, bearing all that in mind, I want to tell you a story about the experience of a lifetime: the 1997 National Spelling Bee in Washington, D.C. For one week, I was the coolest kid around.
First off, let’s examine the thought process behind why I was actually in our nation’s capital. Just how bored do you really have to be to call all the kids in town together and get them to spell words? And at what point did it become such a fierce competition that somebody decided we ought to do it on a national level? Have you ever been to a spelling bee? Even if you’re actually a contestant, the thrill of competition is only slightly above that of the adrenaline rush that comes with, say, buying a new toothbrush, and slightly below the heart-pounding excitement that accompanies cleaning out the refrigerator. (Now, I realize that cleaning out the refrigerator can certainly be an almost religious experience – managing to see both demons and angels manifest within the space of 18 cubic feet at 40°F, battling atop some bowl of potato salad that has managed to gain sentience.) [edited for space]
Washington, D.C. is a really neat town, especially if you’re a history buff like I am. The monuments, the memorials, the something-elses-that-start-with-m… It’s amazing. But there was nothing I saw during that week more impressive than the sheer amount of dweeb that flowed off of some of the other contestants. I assure you: none of the following is made up.
While at the National Spelling Bee, I met a 10 year old girl (her name escapes me at the moment, but I’m sure it was something like “Moon Dust”) who knew the entire choreography to the Locomotion (understandable), The Electric Slide (a bit more disturbing, but not yet to the point of fear), and The Hustle. Yes, THE The Hustle, as in “Do the Hustle! Doot-doot-doot-do-do-da-doot-da-doot… Do the Hustle!”
I also met Rebecca Sealfon, winner of the 1997 National Spelling Bee. She is also the single most frightening individual I’ve ever met. She spelled words into her hands and then into the microphone, one letter at a time. Her winning word was euonym. My computer’s spell check doesn’t even recognize euonym as a real word, yet I assure you, it’s real, and it’s spelled correctly. Rebecca was from Brooklyn, New York. Rebecca was also home schooled. I’m not going to say anything else, because I think that picture is pretty well painted. [This was edited to avoid offending the large numbers of home schooled students at Harding University. I say screw 'em if they can't take a joke, anti-social sheltered little weirdos...]
Just so your curiosity is satisfied, I missed my first word. My word? Vexillology: the study of flags. How many kids do you know running around saying they want to be vexillologists (studiers of flags) when they grow up? I had no clue what the word was, much less the spelling. So I asked for the definition, straight from the Merriam-Webster Dictionary. Here’s the definition I got: “Vexillology… the study of flags.” I then asked that the word be used in a sentence: “Vexillology is the study of flags.” I spelled “v-e-x-a-l-o-l-o-g-y”, which is… uh… incorrect. So I heard the desk bell of doom and was dismissed to (insert dramatic chord)… the comfort room. Two contestants before me, the word had been “panther”.
Since the National Spelling Bee is such a highly revered institution in the lives of children with glasses thick enough to see into the future, the comfort room is a pretty depressing place. You see, what happens is that so many of these kids (there were 270-something contestants when I went) [space edit] realize that the only hopes they have for any level of fame and glory is to spell words right. So when you miss, you’re sent into this ridiculously luxurious conference room with professional counselors to tell you that just because you lost doesn’t make you a loser. Oh, that, and there’s pastry as far as the eye can see.
So after I gorged myself on glazed, chocolate glazed, glazed chocolate iced, crullers, and about a gallon of milk, I decided I’d been thoroughly comforted, and [run-on sentence](.) I proceeded to walk out of the comfort room, head held high, knowing that my self-esteem was not completely tied to my ability (or inability) to memorize the dictionary.
Somewhere back there I had a point… But for now, let’s just say that while, yes, I may be the dorkiest guy on campus… It can always get worse.

Here endeth the lesson.

More than anything, I'm ticked about the Brooklyn/home school crack being taken out... But I guess I can understand it. I guarantee you that won't be the last thing edited out of my Bison articles... I'll keep you posted.