Pleasant-ly!

Pleasant-ly

My father was a card-carrying member of the Grammar Police. He infuriated his children, who were just trying to make an argument for getting their way, by insisting on correct grammar at all times. He loved nouns, verbs, adjectives, adverbs, and obscure tenses that nobody ever needs to use — as I often insisted. Dad earned his commission from his mother, a first-generation immigrant who loved words and English — her second language.

I continued my father’s commission by slyly correcting friends during conversations and by shouting at the radio and television when grammar mistakes were made: Live fearless-LY! Not less calories — fewer! Got milk? No, Do you have milk? I carried a virtual Sharpie to correct misusage in signs, “Let(apostrophe)s go.” I erased commas and corrected spelling as I strolled the mall and rewrote scripts while watching movies. I especially jumped on misused words: You have fewer coins but less money. It is between two friends, not among them. I walked my beat with diligence and felt smug in my GC — grammatical correctness. 

As a parent, I introduced my children to words and usage. As a teacher, I didn’t have the same control since children come to school already speaking. I gently reinforced correct grammar in verbal exchanges and wielded my red pen judiciously. 

One day, while exercising my red pen, I tuned the radio to an interview show. The calming tones of Mr. Rogers filled the room. The host asked Fred about his childhood. Fred had been a quiet boy, overweight, lonely, and often ill, spending hours  in bed playing with his toy soldiers in, he noted, “the land of counterpane.” 

Then came a seminal moment in my life. The host asked Fred if gazing out the window during his illness triggered his imagination. I gasped. Every good grammarian knows that “The Land of Counterpane” refers to a Robert Louis Stevenson poem and has nothing to do with windows. A counterpane is a bedspread. I waited for Mr. Rogers to refer to the poem or correct the host, but he didn’t. He paused and said that yes, being alone so much did trigger his imagination. 

I put down my pen. Mr. Rogers, an intelligent man, an accomplished musician and composer, well-versed in child psychology, and an ordained minister surely could have corrected his interviewer and been well-justified. But Fred chose to be pleasant instead. 

In the movie Harvey, Elwood P. Dowd. an older gentleman whose best friend is an imaginary six-foot rabbit is asked by a doctor why he persists in his delusion. He answers, “Years ago my mother used to say to me, she'd say, ‘In this world, Elwood, you must be… oh so smart or oh so pleasant.’ Well, for years I was smart. I recommend pleasant. You may quote me.”

That day, in my quiet classroom, I decided to be more like Fred. I maintain my commission with the Grammar Police but have abandoned my club of correctness. Now instead of being oh-so-correct, I try to be oh-so-pleasant when editing or conversing. Speak well but live pleasant-ly. Fred, Elwood, and I recommend it. 

(Writer’s note: I am still working on this!)