Turning Over a New Lexicon

Those who know me will back me up on this one: I am not stodgy. I will say just about anything to anyone anywhere at anytime.

That said, however, I also believe that certain niceties should be observed, and right at the top of the list is Standard English When Appropriate. I toss around slang and, um, colorful diction all the time but I do my best to be cognizant of my audience. And one thing I guard against is the linguistic equivalent of “mutton dressed as lamb.” Nothing is more cringe-worthy than a middle-aged teacher trying to hang with the peeps. 

Writ small, u will not c me l8er. 

As a neophyte texter, I faced a dilemma every time I whipped out my thumbs. Character limits forced me to send three messages to every student’s one. And since it took me forever to figure out how to coax an apostrophe from my non-QWERTY device, I wrote without contractions for months.

Eventually I loosened up a bit, but only to a small circle.

My peeps, u no.

When I teach, my students are usually veterans of the AP wars; they write shell-shocked, stilted, voiceless prose and I must help them loosen not tighten their diction. But I still want things right, damn it.

So when I finally became a mother, those who’d known me for big chunks of the 41 years it took me to breed braced themselves for the birth not only of a girl child but also of a fire-breathing perfectionist bitch of a mother… Joan Crawford with The MLA Handbook.

But just as ligaments and tendons loosen to allow a baby’s body to pass through a small space, my rigidity collapsed in the presence of my daughter’s linguistic development. While an adult mispronouncing a word usually sends me running for the Xanax, I was fascinated by the organic process in which she sussed out verb tenses and found her "r" and "l." But I’m still a perfectionist on the inside, and her spelling is another story altogether. Maybe I’ll come back to that in another post, after enduring homework thanks to a couple of glasses of Oregon pinot noir. A commentator on NPR recently urged listeners to accept the reality that “thru” and “nite” may well become standard spellings in 10 years.

ROFLMAO!!! No wA.

But motherhood has relaxed me. It’s made me a more patient, process oriented teacher and a more self-forgiving writer (which is a good thing, considering that this post ended up in Chicago when I was headed for Providence, but oh, well…). My daughter has taught me more about Being, Impermanence, Suffering, and Life than any wall of texts could. She’s also inspired me and made me laugh.

And she’s a princess of neology.

I’d refer to her as a “neologist,” but Merriam-Webster Unabridged hasn’t extended its definition yet. So as my initial contribution to Lithia Writers’ Collective, I offer you two new words, courtesy of Small Child, age eight for six more days.

Snoreful: one who snores noticeably. “Mommy, Kaiser's such a snoreful dog.”
Braggative: someone (most often a third grade girl, but you never know….) who seems to think she’s awfully special. “Mommy, Narcissa’s nice, but she’s kind of braggative sometimes.”

Use these with pleasure, and happiest of Januarys to you all.

Guest Blogger One!

Each time I teach, I offer my students the chance to write about the American flag.  One option asks them to notice how many times and in how many situations they encounter the flag or its image in a 24-hour period. Does the proliferation of the flag as a "text" enrich or diminish its meaning?  The following essay was written by a freshman, and I'm posting it with his permission. I will be happy to forward any comments his way.

Patriotism for Sale

by Korey C.

I pledge allegiance to the bikini top, the cell phone cover, the sugar cookie, and the boxing gloves of the United States of America, and to the republic for which they stand, one nation under god indivisible with liberty and justice for all. Is this what America has become? Is this the only strength the symbol of liberty and justice has left? Is it possible that the flag, the symbol of a great nation, stands for nothing more than cheap vendor’s merchandise and the faults of a country? The world is changing and doing so every day (for better or worse is up to the individual), but hear what I, a single voice in a sea of opinion, have to say.

I am nineteen years old, an American, and the son of an Irish American man and a Korean American woman. My parents both attended college but only my father finished and obtained a four year degree. They both, undeniably, came from different backgrounds but have been loyal Americans their entire lives. They vote every year and always make a point to fill me in on whatever information they can find on each presidential candidate. On both sides of my family are grandparents, uncles, and cousins with military background, so both my parents know the dedication and strength it takes to serve our country. Now with all of this in mind, I recently realized that through my entire life not my parents, brothers, or I have ever owned a single possession that had the image of the flag upon it. The sad truth is that many people will read this and say, “How American can you really be if you don’t own anything with the flag on it?” Perhaps they are right, but as I look at the country I live in I do not see the America that so many people believe it to be. I see a nation full of discrimination, poverty, greed, and arrogance with the flag as its calling card.

How our forefathers would weep if they saw what the flag has become today. After walking through the mall for less than an hour I was able to fill an entire page, consisting of three columns, with useless “patriotic” merchandise. Swimsuits, baseball caps, cookies, press-on nails, boxing gloves, purses, even a cross embellished with the stars and stripes. Out of all these bizarre items a few in particular caught my attention. The first, and most puzzling, was the large metal cross that had been painted over with the stars and stripes. What exactly is the message here? Perhaps it is an item for Christian individuals who are very patriotic and simply want to express both their religion and devotion to their country. Then again, could it be implying that “true” Americans are both Christian and patriotic? Is a specific religious background now part of the criteria to be a good American?

It is messages like this that have affected the country for years. Before my grandparents, on my mother’s side, came to America they were followers of Buddha, but not long after reaching New York City in 1946 they converted to Catholicism. I asked my Halmeoni (Grandmother) why she and my Harabeoji (Grandfather) converted after coming to America. The only answer I could muster out of her was “It was time.” It is known that South Korea was and is divided with half the population being Christian of some sort and the other half Buddhist. The religious backgrounds are usually set by decades of family lines so conversion is rarely seen. So I was shocked that my grandmother, who is one of the strongest women I know, fell victim to a sort of national peer pressure. So here is America telling the peaceful Asian couple to buy a flag, convert, and fit in. The symbol for liberty is needed to shield others from discrimination.

Then I saw items as simple as a cookie being eaten by a small child. Could there be any greater insult to the American flag than slapping it on a cookie, throwing it in the oven, and then passing it out to small children to consume? The flag is supposed to a sacred symbol Americans can stand behind with pride. I can recall being yelled at in boy scouts when I was no older than six for letting the flag touch the ground when I was color guard for the evening meeting. Now here it is resting comfortably in the belly of a toddler. The sheer thought of owning a pair of “patriotic” boxing gloves or cell phone covers should be enough to show how watered down the image of the flag has become. The flag is a supposed to be a beacon to light our darkest hour and yet it has become a candle flickering in the wind. With it we can barely see our own noses in front of us, much less where the country needs to be.

When is the last time you can recall the nation being unified behind the flag? The last time I remember the entire country being in agreement with the flag was 9/11. Every house as far as the eye could see flew an American flag in its front yard. Flags hung in windows, from mailboxes, car windows, and of course every business establishment in town. The flag was a beacon saying “Hey look at me I’m an American and I’m patriotic, so talk to me or buy my stuff.” It is sad to me that through all the hardships our country has faced over the years the only thing that can bring everyone together is a direct attack. The people need a common enemy to face together. They do not care for death caused by natural disaster, disease, or gang violence as long as they don’t “know” that it is going on. They only become one voice when there is someone the entire country can hate together. Americans are the spoiled children of the world; they do what they want when they want.

The first thing that comes to mind when I see and American flag is, sadly, the Bush Presidency. Almost instantly upon seeing a flag I relate it to the war and all the disaster America has had to endure during George Bush’s term in office. Sometime I hate myself for this and only want to see the flag as the flag, but no matter how hard I try I can not help but go straight to president. I think there are many people out there who share my problem which is why since 9/11 we have seen the flag almost completely removed from suburban areas. I know that on my hometown street the flag flew in just about every house’s yard and when I left home for school it flew in only four. I think that’s the country’s biggest problem; when things are not going the way everybody wants we immediately blame the president whose calling card has become the flag. It is sad and very unfair in a way. Now do not get me wrong. I’m not exactly pro Bush, but then again I’m not exactly pro anything. I like to think of myself as an observer. What I see is a country divided. I see citizens of our great nation making the American flag a joke. I see people discriminating against others just because they refuse to fly the flag on something they own. Being an American has a price and it’s there for anyone willing to pay.

Seventh Inning Stretch

I wish I could say that my mind has been occupied with critical theory and novel paths to world peace and lower gasoline prices, but I can't.

Only two and a half weeks remain before finals, and suddenly every student is conscientious. Keeping appointments. Wanting extra help.

And, in some cases, beginning to make significant progress.

One of my writing students made it to the "light bulb moment" this afternoon, the point when she realized that she actually was getting better. Believe me, she still has a long way to go and she knows it. But the look on her face when she said, "You know, I think this draft is just about ready, isn't it?" was worth every page of nonsense she'd produced all term. She went on, "I kept wondering when something was going to happen. What the point was in doing all these assignments."

Then, midway through the conference, she uttered the real magic words: "Hmmm...I don't think I even need that part." And she marked it out all by herself.

I'm sure this is a very tired simile, and almost certainly not original. But, like a perfect sweater from Goodwill, it's new to me. Teaching writing is like planting bulbs. All I do is put stuff in the ground when it's still could outside. I hope for rain and sun and do my best to keep predators away. I wait. Some bulbs bloom, and some don't. Some bide two or three years before they find their beauty.

Today I enjoyed a small garden in full bloom.

I'd like to give special thanks to the master gardeners over at The Lithia Writers' Collective. Their blog has inspired me this spring and provided many wonderful tips for yard work.

Blue in the Face

I love to teach. I really do. But sometimes.....

This semester I'm teaching two courses. One, a literature course, is chock-full of cool novels and, for the most part, the students keep up with the reading. The other, an expository writing course, always picks up toward the end of the term; the beginning, however, is wickedly painful.

Why? Because there is no why. At least not one these 19 young people care about as of today, February 21, 2008. Until we can actually produce some writing to muck around in, we're essentially spinning our wheels during class time. I'm stuck up there, blathering on about argument, and grammar, and revision, and so on. I bore myself stupid. I must bore them moronic.

Over the years, I've come up with a shtick about sentence clarity (yeah, I know, you're thinking I need to put it into action. Buck up. I've earned a little ranting time.). It encourages active verbs! It frowns on long chains of prepositions! It suggests sniffing out "to be" verbs and squashing them like bugs...you get the picture.

So I make an assignment. I even break it into two stages. I offer two opportunities for peer editing, with multiple readers. For the most part, they do okay. But the ones who don't? They come in two flavors.

Some just need coaching, and though their early work is sub-par they often become favorites. As the term unfolds, they will find their way and their words and I will fade into the woodwork and watch them write.

The others? ARRGGHHHH! They don't want to be there, and they don't mind me knowing it. They don't value the process and they don't value the product. They will write well if it matters - in their majors or on a grad school application - but won't break a sweat if it doesn't. I want to banish them.

I'm mulling the ethics of posting some anonymous snippets. If anyone would like to weigh in, please do.

Off the high board again...

Tomorrow marks my return to the front of a college classroom (two, actually) after an 18-month absence. A former professor/colleague retired early after fall semester, so I was "called up." Such is the life of an adjunct.

I've been scrambling to get ready, a process complicated by the death of my father-in-law following an intense two-week illness. So I'm going to leave you with a quote from the front of one of my syllabi. It's about writing, but as I was biting my nails tonight I realized it applies to teaching as well:

It is because writing is inaugural that it is dangerous and anguishing.
It does not know where it is going, no knowledge can keep it from the
essential precipitation toward the meaning that it constitutes and that
is, primarily, its future. There is thus no insurance against the risk of
writing. (Jacques Derrida)

Hmmmmm....sounds like love, too.