At no time am I more reminded of this than at the beginning of a new semester when I stay up late arranging new syllabi (there you have it – moving words around), leafing through texts, poring over sentences and then, in that final preparation, going to my office to purge scores of sheets of useless words – exams from past years, syllabi without a purpose.
But there’s the flip side to this: my training in word play makes me, like everyone with training in anything, anxious to use what I can to help those who might benefit from it. I’ve heard that doctors are feeling a need to be in Haiti to mend limbs and save lives right now. I cannot do that. But, believe it or not, I feel the same pull, even if all that I can even imagine providing are words. To describe, to help with the ordering of chaos, anything! Words can help, no?
No. Words are for the long haul. For governance, for art. They don’t replace limbs and stop infection. They don’t even provide water.
Sigh...
But words are the very basis of our society. We can't get by without words, and those who cannot use them proficiently are at a severe disadvantage. That's one of the most appealing aspects of being an eighth-grade English teacher: I'm there on the front lines, teaching them how to look out for comma splices and misplaced modifiers (with some students; with others, it's still run-ons, fragments, and basic punctuation).
ReplyDeleteOne of the reasons I gave up on the dream I was pursuing ten years ago (Ph.D. in philosophy of religion with a job at a small liberal arts college) was the sense that it was truly useless. Knowing these things are of very little practical value compared to basic communication skills.
So we're not over there mending and fixing, but we're not exactly useless!
Saying that doesn't in anyway lessen the sense of uselessness, does it? No, not for me either.