How Does Merriam-Webster'S Word Of The Day Help Kids Learn Vocabulary?

To prevent me from being jealous of my stepmother's son, my dad implemented a "family point system". Washing dishes earned 1 point, and getting a perfect score on a test earned 10 points. Accumulating 1000 points meant you could make a wish come true. When my stepbrother broke a vase, Dad said it was a sign of good luck and awarded him 50 points. When I insisted on going to school with a fever, Dad said I was trying to garner sympathy and deducted 100 points. I scrambled to scrape together every point I could, all for that exorbitant Math Olympiad registration form. On the day I finally accumulated enough points, my stepbrother cried and said he wanted a pair of limited-edition sneakers. Dad immediately emptied my points. "We're family. Your points are your brother's points too." I looked at the torn-up application form and jumped from the 18th-floor balcony.

Parents like to say every child is a part of them. In our house, I was but a splinter under the skin. Mom and Dad were a blended couple. They could not bring themselves to truly punish my stepbrother and stepsister, so they had me and turned me into their cautionary example. When my brother came last in his class, Dad locked me in a dog crate under the blazing sun to teach him what happened to people who refused to study. When my sister started dating too young, Mom drugged me and dumped me in a homeless encampment to show her what could happen if she was not careful. Then one day, Dad found a takeout receipt in the trash. He forced poisoned food into my mouth and made me swallow. "Today, I am going to teach you all a real lesson. This is what happens when you eat whatever you want behind our backs." Even as I coughed blood and writhed on the floor, Dad threw me into the punishment room. My brother and sister rushed to confess and begged Mom to let me out. But Mom only said coldly, "You two will learn this lesson properly today. When you have learned it, I will let him out." I sat on the floor as blood soaked through my shirt. As my consciousness faded, I finally understood. Dad, your last cautionary lesson had to be taught with my life.

A month before the SATs, I, Jenny Reid, could see my score. Literally. It was just floating right above my head. But there was a catch. Every time I cracked open a prep book, my score would drop by ten points. But if I skipped a day of school? It jumped right back up by ten. So, I played the system. For a whole month, I barely lifted a finger. And on the day of the test, the number glowing over my head was a solid 1560. When the scores finally dropped online… I'd scored a 500. And the 1560? That was my little sister Patricia's score. My parents lost it. As punishment, they got me a grueling night-shift job at a local electronics factory. That first night, a bunch of guys I'd never seen before cornered me in the parking lot and beat me half to death. Fading in and out of consciousness, I heard my sister's voice right by my ear. "You just had to one-up me, didn't you? Thought you were so smart… but you never figured out I was the one controlling that number over your head." The truth hit me like a physical blow. The score had been her trick all along. I opened my eyes—and I was back. One month before the SATs. The number above my head read exactly 1300. "Hey," my sister said, all fake sweetness. "Want to study together tonight? We can go over the practice tests." I looked at the stack of papers in my own hands. Without a word, I pulled out my lighter and set them on fire right there in the driveway. "Exams are coming," I said, watching the flames. "I'm not studying." My score ticked up to 1310. My sister's face was this perfect mask of disappointment, but the second I turned away, I caught the sly smile she couldn't quite hide. She had no idea… the real performance, the one I'd been rehearsing just for her, was finally about to begin.

To encourage overall development, the kindergarten had asked each student to create a hand-drawn poster. My daughter Holly refused my help and insisted on doing it all on her own. Little did I know, most of the other children had their parents do the artwork for them. In comparison, Holly's delicate strokes were quickly dismissed. Not only was her work discarded into the trash, but her teacher also called her out in the parent group, criticizing her for being careless with the assignment. As I racked my brain trying to figure out how to help Holly regain her confidence in drawing, I was surprised to see Holly's artwork among the winning entries in the state-level children's art competition. But the signature wasn't hers—it belonged to another student from her class.

When Eloise Garpin, my daughter, comes back from kindergarten, she tells me that her teacher, Karen Linsell, has given her class a weird assignment. Apparently, everyone is to record their mothers' menstrual week. But what makes things weirder is that whenever I'm on my period, John Garpin, my husband who's often busy with work, keeps offering to pick Eloise up from kindergarten. One day, I come across a post on a social media app. "What should I do? I've fallen in love with my student's rich father! Oh dear, I really like him so much! You have no idea that his taut and slim waist looks so seductive! Every time I see him, I can't help but moan!" Someone begins admonishing her out of fury the moment they see the post. "What the hell? Are you itching to become a mistress? You really are shameless! Goodness, you're so disgusting! I can't believe you call yourself a teacher!" Unexpectedly, the original poster doesn't care about the comment at all. She even posts a photo featuring the aftermath of her carnal fun with the man. "So what if I am? Anyway, we regularly sleep together every month whenever he picks his daughter up during his wife's period. This is so thrilling!" I'm stunned when I see the million-dollar custom watch strapped to the man's wrist in the photo. And today… happens to be the first day of my period.

I donated 45 million to the city's best kindergarten, but my daughter failed the enrollment interview. She was a polymath. Furious, I demanded an explanation from admissions. She hurled an assessment file at my face. "Your daughter's brilliant, but you're the exact opposite! You're dead last among the parents!" She continued, "The others have tech domes! You're nothing but a regular Ivy League graduate! Your degree's worth about as much as toilet paper!" The other teachers laughed as well. "If we admit her daughter, it's going to look bad on the other kids. She can't take that responsibility." "Yeah, I can't believe she's demanding an explanation from Ms. Johnson. Her husband is the kindergarten's biggest stakeholder. He can make sure her daughter has nowhere to go." The admission teacher shoved me away. With disdain in her eyes, she said, "Out of my sight if you know what's good for you. My husband is picking me up in his Rolls-Royce. His car plate alone is worth more than your life! It's lucky 777! Only one in Georgeport!" Three sevens? That was my husband's car. I laughed mirthlessly and texted my husband. "I had no idea you had another wife behind me."