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Friday, October 12, 2012

Grammar Rule Narrative


          *** What follows is a brief essay I wrote for my Teaching Grammar class. The point of the essay was to tell a story that involved a disagreement over the "rules" of the English language. I was to perform a good deal of research on the "rule" I chose, and it was my task to weave that research into my story in a meaningful way. To those who know the story, I would ask that you keep this in mind: I wrote this trying to preserve the impressions of my teenage-mind. My current self wouldn't agree with everything she has to say. *** 

           Anyone who has ever been a Mormon teenage girl can tell you about the Young Women program. Designed to function as both a religious class and an extracurricular club, each local Young Women group consists of twelve- to eighteen-year-old girls, and is run by a presidency made up of middle-aged Mormon women. My own experiences in Young Women were highly satisfactory . . . until the local president and I began to fight about my supposed lack of proper respect for authority figures. Once she decided that I was an impudent child, I decided that she was an idiot – a fact that was proven to me when she sent home a list of supplies that we would need for “Girls Camp” that year.
            Girls Camp? Wrong. It should have been “Girls’ Camp.” I took the list to my editing-inclined mother and asked, “How can I be expected to show respect to someone who can’t even use an apostrophe?”
            “But she doesn’t need to use an apostrophe there,” Mom responded. Blaspheme. I left silently: They were obviously in it together.
            What I didn’t know at fifteen was that the apostrophe has ever been an item of confusion for even the most dedicated scholars. Although apostrophes were used as early as the 16th century to indicate omissions, there was no attempt to govern the other types of usage until the mid-19th century (Cavella, and Kernodle). The basic rules upon which most modern scholars agree dictate that apostrophes can be used in three ways: possessives, contractions, and unusual plurals – such as “the aye’s have it” (Bullock, and Weinberg). I understood this. The phrase was “Girls’ Camp,” I thought, because it was our camp. It belonged to us.
            That precise assumption is what causes the confusion. Because according to writers Tim North and Richard Nordquist, the word “girls” in that phrase does not signify ownership; rather, it is a description – much like “a writers manual” or “a childrens book” (Nordquist). They would argue that the camp is not owned by girls, it is for girls; therefore, the use of a possessive apostrophe would be inappropriate, incorrect. And I would be wrong (North, Nordquist).
            Both I and my Young Women President were following the rules – we were just using different playbooks. Grammar, like every other aspect of language, reflects the power structure of the society in which it is made. My president’s insistence that the apostrophe was unnecessary was a continuation of her insistence that I – as a minor – had no place in the administration and control of our activities, while my own determination to scribble the apostrophe in anyway was a physical manifestation of exactly the impudence she had been accusing me of. I was going to take ownership of my life, whether the rules permitted it or not. Oddly enough, the apostrophe was my tool for rebellion.
            Incidentally, the LDS church’s stance on the issue is this: they refer to it as Young Women Camp. Without the apostrophe.

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

Teething Pains

The worst place in the world for a cameraman is a dentist's office.

Why? I wondered, standing awkwardly against the wall - my lips aching from their imprisonment in one of those spreader-devices - as the young dentist leaned closer and pushed the camera lens into my face. Why can't I ever have a dentist appointment that isn't completely awkward?

I have a long, blistering history with oral physicians. Dentists, orthodontists, oral surgeons, you name it. My experience with puberty was inexorably woven with these types of people; from the age of thirteen to adulthood, I had no idea what it was like to eat without wire fences in the way. (However, I was all too familiar with getting my sliding metal tubes stuck and being frozen with a roaring mouth.) After years of associating that ultra-sophisticated office with pain and disappointment, I concluded as a seventeen-year-old that "Orthodontists are soul-eaters."

Now that I am a few healthy strides into maturity, I have decided to forgive all the orthodontists, dentists, hygienists, surgeons, and nurses who have ever stabbed me in the mouth. In retrospect, I realize that they were all trying to help me, and that without them my teeth would still be rows of rubble. So I went to my dentist appointment yesterday with the intent to be cheery and helpful, to show my thanks for all that their kind has done for me.

And as a reward, I was attacked by the paparazzi, scrutinized and critiqued and "Don't you think you should Whiten those?"-ed until I thought even my teeth would begin blushing in embarrassment.

Some things never change.