A lot of my earliest memories have books in them. My dad is a life-long, avid reader and our home was always filled with books. When I was very little he had built shelves from old wood and made a library in our house. I remember running between the towering shelves made from rough, weathered wood and the green shag carpet they stood on between my toddler toes. I used to study the strange covers of his science fiction novels and try to divine the story held behind them, lost in my imaginings for what felt like hours. The bathroom always had two or three books within arm's reach of the toilet, and I learned early that it's the best room in the house to get any actual reading done; something that has come in handy now that I'm a father. Where else can you sit in privacy without distractions, safely locked away from toddlers and their constant demands?
One day I worked up the courage and asked my dad to help me pick out one of his books. I remember standing in front of the shelves with my father, shyly looking over his collection while he smiled down at me. I wonder now what that was like for him, to have his thirteen-ish son ask for a book that was way above his comprehension and maturity levels. For whatever reason he didn't tell me to run along and read one of my Goosebumps, but picked out a paperback book and handed it to me. I think it was Childhood's End by Arthur C. Clarke, author of many sci-fi classics including 2001. It must have been during my middle school years that I started reading Clarke and Robert A. Heinlein, science fiction giants that were well beyond my young mind. Somehow I made my way through them, stretching to grasp what I could and probably understanding less than half of what I read. But I kept coming back and my dad kept giving me things to read, and I will be forever grateful.
Another early memory is of a grade school teacher marking red all over my handwriting test because I had been using word-wrap. Whenever I ran out of space on the line I'd put a dash within the word and carefully continue spelling it on the next line like I'd seen in my father's books. She had marked every instance wrong, even though I had done it correctly. I went home, picked out a fat novel at random (I think it was Clavell's Tai-Pan or King Rat, both of which I now have in my own library) and looked at the first page I flipped to. Sure enough, there was word-wrapping all over the thin, yellowing pages. That was the first time I realized a teacher could be wrong.
When I first became aware of my "affliction" in high school I was apologetic and a bit ashamed, like I had an uncontrollable facial tick that made people uncomfortable. Around that time I was in Advanced Placement English and proud of it (even if we did have to read Adventures of Huckleberry Finn), although being a "geek" wasn't cool back then, and geeking out about grammar and punctuation wasn't the sexy trait we know it to be today. But as I grew older I went from mousy to militant when it came to speaking and writing correctly, even with the invention and popularization of AOL-speak and Internet lingo. Much like my fervent atheism at the time, I had a very strong opinion on the matter and I was going to put it right in your face whether you asked for it or not. I attribute much of my typing speed and accuracy to countless hours spent backspacing and retyping misspelled words, and Keyboarding class in high school (which I elected to take) was one of my favorites.
My atheistic enthusiasm has mellowed with age and sounds now like an old man yelling from his porch, shaking his tiny fist, while my grammatical fanaticism has only gotten stronger. However, I have since learned that it's more socially acceptable to complain about someone behind their back than to their face (a sure sign of maturity), so at least I'm making progress. Usually these complaints happen for an audience of one, either my special lady friend or amigo Alex. Thankfully both are similarly afflicted and never shake their heads at my tirades or tell me to lighten up.
And why would they? If you are an adult and English is your first language there is no excuse beyond laziness for writing and spelling incorrectly. (Speaking is a bit of a different matter: you can't go back and change your words if you've said something incorrectly, and I have a soft spot for accents, dialects, and slang. Also, I get flustered and say weird things when speaking with people face to face.) This is especially true considering the ubiquity of electronic communication, as nearly all devices and software have spellcheck installed and enabled by default. Those squiggly red lines underneath your words aren't there for decoration.
Basic grammar, spelling, and punctuation is something we were taught well before finishing high school, and while things like Calculus and Spanish can easily fade after graduation due to disuse there is simply no reason to let your English waste away. We are bombarded with it every moment of our lives and people "write" now more than ever in this age of the ever-present Internet. Which, incidentally, has this awesome thing where you can search an online dictionary and find out how to spell "irregardless" and then discover that it isn't actually a word and stop using it.
To me it's like we're all cooks, baking these little pastries we give to each other. Maybe it's something cupcake-sized like a text or a status update, or something more in the cake range like blog entries and articles. Now imagine eating a tasty little creation and CRUNCH, your teeth bite down on an eggshell. Worst feeling ever, right? It hurts your soul somehow, and your brain freezes for that awful second as your teeth grate across the food equivalent of a chalkboard. You don't want to take anymore bites in fear that you'll find another one. This is what it's like for those of us who still give a damn about spelling and grammar. Each time you misspell a word or completely disregard punctuation: CRUNCH CRUNCH CRUNCH. It's horrible.
So please, have a heart and take out those eggshells. Use the resources available to you and take the time to sound as intelligent as you probably are. We're not asking for confections that would make Marie Antoinette squeal, but only to keep our gums from bleeding. On behalf of spelling, grammar, and punctuation Nazis enthusiasts everywhere, we thank you.
- David
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