I was raised to speak English well and to love the language.

Thanks, Dad.

My father was an officer, a gentleman and a Renaissance man. He grew up poor (…Oklahoma in the 30’s…) but smart. He joined the Navy, which got him a college education and two great careers (20 years with the Navy, 20 years with IBM), not to mention a life-changing introduction to the general’s daughter, and three adorable children.

Dad not only gave me the DNA, he gave me exceptional examples and lessons about loving the English language:

Read

My folks did not read to us. They read. I have no memories of sitting in Dad’s lap listening to him read me fairy tales. I have plenty of memories of accompanying Dad or Mom to the library each Saturday. They picked out their reading material; I picked out mine.  They did not do this to be A Good Example. They did it because they loved to read.

I found out fast — before the end of my first Bobbsey Twins book — that reading is, bar none, the best way to learn how language works, to improve one’s vocabulary, and to learn how words are spelled.

Look it up!

Like most kids, I’d often run into a word I didn’t understand. Don’t bother asking Dad for the definition! It would always go like this: “Dad, what’s peruse mean?” “Look it up!”

Of course, I knew that Dad knew what any word meant. But he did teach me to use a dictionary. To like the dictionary. To peruse the dictionary. To expand my vocabulary.

Know the Rules

Dad was a stickler for rules (possibly because he flew jets in the Navy, where following the rules helps you not kill yourself).  He insisted that we follow the rules of good grammar. I learned young to say Mom and I, because it was incorrect to say Mom and me or me and Mom (two constructions that still make me cringe.)

Dad had us follow other rules that are now rare in common usage:

• Say “one” or “a person” instead of “you.”

“Riding Space Mountain makes you dizzy.” I’d say to him.

“Makes me dizzy?” he’d ask, one eyebrow cocked.

I’d correct myself: “…Makes a person dizzy.”

• Don’t say “this” unless you can point to it.

A sentence such as “I caught this fish last week” would make Dad cringe; he’d phrase it as “I caught a fish last week” – unless of course we were dining on the fish at that moment.

Mom was always amazed that Dad and I could chat at length about word usage and about the changes, over time, in acceptable grammatical constructions—many of which I favored and all of which Dad considered anathema. (If you don’t know what anathema means, look it up.)

Dad was proud that all of his children grew up to enjoy the language. My younger brother also writes professionally. Our older brother, a lawyer, uses words to persuasively address the jury.

Dad’s been gone 5 years now: He would have turned 84 years old this week. Under his influence and example, I shall be forever fascinated with the flexibility, the peculiarities, and the power of English.