Words
I'm not certain how my interest in words---written and spoken---began, but I've always had an appetite for them.
Perhaps this was a compensating factor for my lack of physical weapons. My body is good enough for everyday use, but in an emergency, it ain't much help. Words have always been my go-to when in trouble.
I recall my first real challenge by a bully kid on the playground in the fifth grade. I must have done something to offend him because he wanted to meet me after school to whip my butt. Quickly a rather large crowd of classmates gathered around us. There is nothing to match a schoolyard fight for attracting an attentive audience. I recall laughing at his offer and flatly declined it indicating that it was quite silly. My want-to-be adversary seemed confused---saved by my words.
At the time of this incident, I was more interested in reading at the nearby library than having my body parts abused adjacent to it.
The elementary school didn't have a library, but the city fathers in their wisdom had recently built a nice library within the same block as the school which meant I could go there after school while waiting on my mom to pick me up. It was a marvelous place in which I could wander and examine without supervision and…take books from there home with me. Thanks, Benjamin Franklin.
I wasn't much on the children's books. The adult books were the ones for me.
By the time I was in high school, I was reading a lot…a lot. The high school had a library; Huxley and Rand were two of my favorites.
I had an erudite friend who would often use polysyllable words when speaking with me. I largely suspect that he learned them from his father who also seemed erudite. Rather than pretend I understood his words, I would stop him and ask the meaning of them. Never miss a chance to place another arrow in your quiver.
Also, while in high school, I accidentally acquired a wonderful speech teacher. She had a wonderful sense of humor and was darned good at her chosen profession. That's where I learned that the spoken language was a wonderful way to make people laugh and a powerful way to change their minds. My specialty at speech contests we attended was after dinner speaking. Yeah, it was different times.
In college, LSU, my interest in fiction picked up with Hemingway, Faulkner, and Fitzgerald. I finally had to pick a major: philosophy or English---English, more opportunities to learn about more aspects of the world…maybe even more words.
In the service, my reading never ceased. Drinking and reading were my primary diversions.
After the service, I accidentally became a high school English teacher. It seemed to suit me, and not being around old friends, there was no pressure for me to choose a more elevated occupation. Teaching was a wonderful learning experience for me. Thirty-five years later, I retired.
Linda and I compliment each other. She can spell the fleas off a dog; whereas, I can tell her what kind of flea each is. Handy for both of us.
This is my only book: it was seventy-five years in the making. It's a hodge-podge of thoughts on words, literature, writing, and speaking. Damn, that sounds boring. Being that I'm a born again capitalists, I urge you to go to Amazon to purchase a copy for yourself, your mom or dad, your uncles and aunts, or just a friend. I hope you enjoy reading my essays as much as I enjoyed writing them.
enough
Words
I'm not certain how my interest in words---written and spoken---began, but I've always had an appetite for them.
Perhaps this was a compensating factor for my lack of physical weapons. My body is good enough for everyday use, but in an emergency, it ain't much help. Words have always been my go-to when in trouble.
I recall my first real challenge by a bully kid on the playground in the fifth grade. I must have done something to offend him because he wanted to meet me after school to whip my butt. Quickly a rather large crowd of classmates gathered around us. There is nothing to match a schoolyard fight for attracting an attentive audience. I recall laughing at his offer and flatly declined it indicating that it was quite silly. My want-to-be adversary seemed confused---saved by my words.
At the time of this incident, I was more interested in reading at the nearby library than having my body parts abused adjacent to it.
The elementary school didn't have a library, but the city fathers in their wisdom had recently built a nice library within the same block as the school which meant I could go there after school while waiting on my mom to pick me up. It was a marvelous place in which I could wander and examine without supervision and…take books from there home with me. Thanks, Benjamin Franklin.
I wasn't much on the children's books. The adult books were the ones for me.
By the time I was in high school, I was reading a lot…a lot. The high school had a library; Huxley and Rand were two of my favorites.
I had an erudite friend who would often use polysyllable words when speaking with me. I largely suspect that he learned them from his father who also seemed erudite. Rather than pretend I understood his words, I would stop him and ask the meaning of them. Never miss a chance to place another arrow in your quiver.
Also, while in high school, I accidentally acquired a wonderful speech teacher. She had a wonderful sense of humor and was darned good at her chosen profession. That's where I learned that the spoken language was a wonderful way to make people laugh and a powerful way to change their minds. My specialty at speech contests we attended was after dinner speaking. Yeah, it was different times.
In college, LSU, my interest in fiction picked up with Hemingway, Faulkner, and Fitzgerald. I finally had to pick a major: philosophy or English---English, more opportunities to learn about more aspects of the world…maybe even more words.
In the service, my reading never ceased. Drinking and reading were my primary diversions.
After the service, I accidentally became a high school English teacher. It seemed to suit me, and not being around old friends, there was no pressure for me to choose a more elevated occupation. Teaching was a wonderful learning experience for me. Thirty-five years later, I retired.
Linda and I compliment each other. She can spell the fleas off a dog; whereas, I can tell her what kind of flea each is. Handy for both of us.
This is my only book: it was seventy-five years in the making. It's a hodge-podge of thoughts on words, literature, writing, and speaking. Damn, that sounds boring. Being that I'm a born again capitalists, I urge you to go to Amazon to purchase a copy for yourself, your mom or dad, your uncles and aunts, or just a friend. I hope you enjoy reading my essays as much as I enjoyed writing them.
enough