Reflection #1

i wrote this for Structure of the English Language. We're supposed to write a sort of essay about words and how they work, affect us, influence our lives. i'm not sure this was what she wanted, but it's what came out. i've been thinking about it for a long time now; it's hard not to.

The human need for language is a tricky thing. Words can lift us up or crush us. Words can sooth or enrage. And sometimes words are not even necessary.

When I was a child I loved my grandfather. He never cursed, was never rude, and was always a gentleman. He said things a bit differently than we did. He calls lunch “dinner” and dinner “supper.” He never wore his seatbelt unless we begged him. He used big words and knew what he believed but he would never say anything derogatory about someone of another race.

When he would drive us places he would say something about the signs we passed. He liked to laugh and make jokes. He would mix up his consonants on purpose, call Jack in the Box “Back in the Jox” and Circle K would be pronounced “Kurkle Say.” On vacation he would always run into someone he knew. If he saw a photo of a vacation that happened decades ago he’d always be able to tell you what month and year that was and where the picture was taken.

He liked to pick us up by the ears. When he wanted to tell us that he loved us, he wouldn’t say the words, he would whisper in our ears a sound that’s heard to describe, full of “ps” and “sh” and breathy nothings. If we were feeling down he’d say “chirk up, honey pot.” He also like to play a game where he would blink one eye, then the other, and see how fast he could switch back and forth between eyes. He initiated staring contests. He did the crossword puzzle in the newspaper every day.

Grandad was all about words. He’d talk about what he read in the paper, what had been reported on the evening news, and what Rush Limbaugh had said that day. No one was allowed to read or sing at the table but everyone talked with one another. I’m told that when his children were in school that during supper he made them spell words aloud, define big words, and talk about the news of the day. He was on the school board. My memories are of him eating spaghetti with a fork and spoon, always having a glass of water and a mug of coffee (black), and at a restaurant making us wait for him to finish his coffee before we could leave.

Maybe this doesn’t sound like it’s about words and language, but it is. Grandad doesn’t use big words anymore. He can’t remember the rules of games that he’s been playing all his life. He can’t remember where a photo was taken a few days ago, let alone years ago. He doesn’t remember how to get home but he insists that he should be allowed to drive: after all he has been since he was fourteen. When he asks about where the car is he uses the same arguments over and over, every day. He curses now, but with words like “Dad-blammit.” He doesn’t remember what you told him five minutes ago, even when he is in the midst of the same conversation. On Christmas day, and every day the week before and the week after, he didn’t know that it was Christmas.

And while Grandad used to shower every day and always smell like aftershave—it would only be every once in a long while that we got to feel his whiskers—he now refuses to bathe and wears the same clothes day after day. His words are full of complaints about moving away from Arizona and his relatives being good for nothings that only want to take advantage of him. People of other races are now derogatory terms and tales of his youthful indiscretions have crept into his stories about the war in Korea.

His words used to make me fly, but now they pull me down. He is the reason I love words and became interested in politics before I was out of junior high. I still measure every man I meet by the standard he set. He isn’t the same man anymore, he’s slipped away from us, and it makes us cry and laugh at the same time. But his old mannerisms still resonate in our hearts. And though he makes me wish that he would have died rather than come to this, and I avoid him more and more day by day, I still want my Grandad back and I still love him. The words he spoke to me will be a part of me always, and the things he used to laugh about still make me laugh. And it is so hard to see him fall to this.