Tag Archives: speaking

A Loss For Words

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Most people who know me would likely tell you I am rarely, if ever, at a loss for words.  But they would also assure you, I trust, that I am far from being a blabbermouth.  My own opinion is that in most social situations, I can hold my own in conversation without becoming annoying or overbearing.

Most of the time, I listen; when appropriate, I ask questions.  If prompted, I will hold forth on a subject (if I know something about it), but not to the point of boring my friends to tears…I hope.

There is one situation, however, where all of the above is not true, perhaps the only circumstance where I find myself virtually unable to get a word in edgewise.  This unfortunate state of affairs occurs every time I find myself on a FaceTime call with my wife and daughters.  I hustle into the den with my iPad, leaving my wife with her screen in the living-room, so we won’t get feedback during the call.

When I say ‘unfortunate’, I mean for me, of course; for all I know, the ladies find it delightful when I sit, practically mute, at my end of the line.

The problem arises, not because my wife and daughters ramble endlessly on and on, not because they’re rude or inconsiderate, not because they delight in ignoring me, even politely.  Nothing could be farther from the truth.  In fact, they are all among the most considerate of creatures on the face of the earth, and they love me dearly.

No, the problem occurs almost every time we’re on a call because they appear to react faster than I do.  And to think faster, too, I suppose.  Regardless of the subject, I’m usually listening attentively as they express their various points of view, waiting for my brain to kick into gear as I consider an appropriate response.  The sad fact is that, by the time I have a response, one of them has already jumped back into the conversation ahead of me.

Another issue causing me a problem is their propensity to change subjects at the drop of a hat.  We might have spent five minutes batting a particular topic back and forth—the three of them talking while I listen—and Boom!  Without warning, one of them will introduce a brand-new thread, or ask about something entirely different from what we’ve been discussing. 

Even as my brain registers the change, a part of it is crying, silently and forlornly, that I haven’t yet kicked in my two cents’ worth on the first topic.

But they aren’t rude, as I have said, so at some point (perhaps noticing my silence), one of the girls might say, “What do you think, Dad?” 

“Ah…let’s see,” I reply, “can we go back to that first thing we were talking about?  I had a thought about that, but I couldn’t get in.”

The three of them laugh and roll their eyes at this, chide me to ‘keep with the tour’, then blithely resume their three-way conversation.  It’s probably just as well, I guess, because by the time I’m asked to chime in, I’ve often forgotten the point I wanted to make, anyway.

I must admit, though, all modesty aside, that I generally look surprisingly good on those FaceTime calls.  I sit up straight, look right into the camera (with an occasional peek at my own image), and keep myself centred in the screen.  They, by contrast, let the screen wobble all over the place as they walk from room to room tending flowers, picking up dirty clothes, starting early prep for supper, training their camera on their dogs.  It drives me crazy, but I can never worm my way into the conversation to ask them to stop.

I’ve explored various strategies to help, but none seems to.  I’ve tried holding up my hand, for example, when I want to cut in, but all I get is a return wave, as if they think I’m leaving the conversation.  “Bye, Dad!”

On more than one occasion, I’ve cut my video feed for a few seconds, hoping they’ll wonder if I’m okay, but all I hear is, “Looks like Dad has left the conversation!  Was it something we said?”

“No!” I want to shout, as I turn the video back on.  “It’s because I haven’t said anything!”  But they’re already talking about something else, so once again I can’t get in.

I recognize that the limitations of the FaceTime technology, marvellous though it is, play a part in exacerbating my dilemma.  The offset between audio and video transmission makes it difficult for me to pick the right moment to jump in—like watching a TV commentator interviewing someone far away, each of them experiencing a delay in hearing the other, resulting in dead air.  If I speak up too soon, while one of the girls is still talking, no one hears me; if I wait ‘til she’s finished, someone else has already started.

Still, I persist in taking part in these FaceTime calls, not only to hear what the girls have to say, but to look at them as they’re saying it.  And I console myself that, if ever I had anything pertinent and crucial to share with them, I probably did it years ago.  Whatever I might add now is probably just more of the same.

The ironic part of the whole thing, though, is after we’ve ended the call, I’ll wander back into the living-room and my wife will say, “Are you okay?  You didn’t have much to say today.”

And that always leaves me at a loss for words.

Grandpa’s Grammar

Your per-nunky-ayshun is her-ibble!

So spake my grandfather once upon a time, admonishing me—perhaps five years old at the time—when I mispronounced a word while talking with him.  I remember dissolving in laughter, delighted by the strange words coming from his mouth.

Language, and its proper usage, were important to him.  An accomplished calligrapher, a voracious reader, and an avocational writer, he was forever dwelling on the importance of speaking and writing correctly.

grandpa 3

Years later, as a young teacher, I carried on that same tradition by including grammar lessons in my pupils’ daily curriculum.  When I became a father, I continued the practice in conversations with our daughters.

Neither my wife nor I favoured the inane baby-talk that was so prevalent among parents back then as they communicated with their children.  Right from the beginning, we resolved to speak to the girls in proper sentences, expressing complete thoughts, using correct terminology, pronouncing words properly.  Most of it probably went over their heads in the beginning, of course, but we definitely set an expectation in their minds that effective communication was important.

Along the way, I made time to tell them of the various quirks and anomalies of the English language.  Making a game of it, or including it in story-times, helped, I think, to convey the lessons.

I’d explain to them about adverbs and adjectives, and how they’re used.  “Adverbs usually, but not always, end in ‘ly’,” I’d say.  “So, you don’t run quick or slow, you run quickly or slowly.  You don’t dress nice, you dress nicely.  Get it?”

“Huh?” their quizzical expressions would seem to say.

“You can feel good,” I might continue, “but you’re never doing good.  You’re doing well.  And, you’re never doing poor, but you could be doing poorly.”

“But, you’re always saying I eat too fast,” the eldest once said.  “Does that mean I’m eating too fastly?”

At that point, I launched into an apology for all the exceptions to the rules in English exposition.

Spelling and vowel-sounds were often challenging, as well, when I’d lead them through the pronunciation of such lookalike words as: through (long u sound), tough (short u sound), although (long o sound), cough (short o sound), and plough (sounds like ow).

For a long time, we enjoyed playing a silly-sounds game, asking each other to correct the mispronounced words in sentences like this: ‘Althoo my meat was toe, I got thruff most of it.’

To many of our friends, parents themselves, my emphasis on grammar and spelling likely seemed fetishist, even obsessive.

“I could care less about that stuff,” they often said to me.

“No,” I’d reply, “I think what you mean is that you couldn’t care less.  If you could care less, it would mean you consider it important.”

Most of them would roll their eyes and drop the subject.

Lesson-01

Pronunciation was always the main issue, though.  In time, the girls would recognize and laugh at obvious mistakes they’d hear on the radio or television, from speakers who ought to have known better.

“That guy said Nagra Falls, Daddy,” one might say.  “It should be Ni-a-ga-ra, right?”

Her sister might pipe up, “I heard someone talk about the nu-cu-lar bomb, instead of nu-cle-ar!”

“How about this one?” the first might say.  “We don’t eye-urn our clothes, we i-ron them.”

“Yeah, and there are no taggers in the zoo; they’re ti-gers.”

I suppose it was Grandpa’s grammar lessons that imprinted on me, and led me to become so insistent on proper language usage.

But, what about the situation today, I wonder, when so much of our verbal and written communication is made up of verbal shortcuts?

abbreviations

Is the proper usage of language still important?

So many times now, I hear people say something like this in conversation: “So, she goes, ‘I like your dress.’  And I go, ‘Thanks!’  Then, she goes, ‘It’s nice.’”

Can they not use the correct word, as in ‘She said…’ and ‘I said…’?

It’s common anymore to hear someone say ‘What?’, not ‘Pardon?’ when they haven’t heard me; ‘Fer Shurr!’, not ‘For sure!’ when they’re certain of something; or, ‘It don’t matter!’, not ‘It doesn’t matter!’ when asked if everything is okay.

To me, it does matter.

Still, in the grand scheme of life, perhaps it no longer counts if our language continues to be used correctly and in its purest form.  It is a living thing, after all, and should, therefore, be expected to evolve over time, adapting to technology and 5G capabilities.

spelling

But, so much of the first impression we convey to others about ourselves is wrapped up in how we speak, and in how we sound to others.  So much about our intellect and learning is tied up in how we write.  I have trouble accepting that grammar, spelling, syntax, diction, and pronunciation may no longer be valuable in our human discourse.

My grandfather told me over and over that our language should always be held in respect, and used in its highest form.  And I, a child at his knee, believed him.

“Otherwise,” he’d say, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, “it will be a true cattas-troffy!”