Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: Facepalm (05/15/14)
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TITLE: Broken English Man | Previous Challenge Entry
By LINDA GERMAIN
05/21/14 -
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That’s what I wondered as I slipped in the back door of my mother’s big house. She answered my question before it made its way to my lips.
“It’s your grandfather. He’ll be staying with us for a few weeks until his fractured left arm heals.”
“Poppa broke his arm?” I was stunned. He is the healthiest and busiest senior citizen I know.
“Here…take this tray of oatmeal cookies and tea for both of you. Let him describe his latest adventure.”
Mom smiled and added in a whisper, “It’s worth hearing.”
Sure enough, as is his usual modus operandi, he was hollering at the television as if those folks could hear him. When he saw his favorite grandchild bearing gifts of sweet sustenance, that engaging gleam in his sparkling eyes lit up the room.
I placed the tray next to him on a little table and hugged his good side. The sight of him hobbled like this was a shock. This is a man who flies planes, and wins dance contests, and paints magnificent pictures. In my mind, he also could leap tall buildings in a single bound.
“Oh Poppa, what happened?” I tried not to cry.
“Hello, Darlin’ girl! I was hoping you’d be here soon. At least you understand me.”
I poured the hot tea and pushed the cookies closer.
“Why were you yelling so much?”
He chuckled, always good natured about his pet-peeve.
“You probably can guess. It’s that awful mess I hear out of humans who believe they are educated but who haven’t learned anything in English class; or do they still teach that foreign subject?”
I could see his mouth setting itself for another tirade. The man has an almost histrionic response to what passes for grammar in the media. He insists they are intoxicating the airwaves with the kind of sinful syntax that would have gotten him kicked out of school.
Of course, the man was a professor of English for many decades. His reputation as a self-proclaimed keeper of the purity of our language was legendary. Once, he made the whole class write 100 times, “At is a word that never follows where is it.” I think he made believers out of them.
After a little tea and crumpets, as we used to call our snack ritual, he was happy again and ready to chat.
“You know, of course, about my latest book? The title is, Mystery of the Murdered English Language. I hired a woman to assist with the final proofing. She told me she had a degree in journalism. One day she said the most dreadful thing and I was forced to send her packing.
He started to sputter and get red-faced at the memory of the whole ugly thing (as he called it).
“My goodness, Poppa dear, what did she do?
He had to take a swig of tea before he could tell me.
“She…she…she said, ‘I seen an ambulance next door.’”
He went into detail about how he hoped he had heard her wrong and had merely missed the necessary helper-word. When she repeated “I seen” he leaped up in an undignified rage, caught his foot on the rug, and then fell on top of the computer. That maneuver jiggled the wall and dislodged a most heavy plaque, which fell on his outstretched arm and snapped it like a twig.
My eyes must have been wide with disbelief. “You mean the one the University bestowed in honor of your outstanding teaching in the department of English?”
“Hey… listen, little girl. It isn’t funny,” he roared, while shaking his good fist in the air and his mane of gorgeous white hair from side to side.
“Sweet Poppa, I wasn’t going to laugh.”
He looked at me with that old twinkle. “Well…you ought to! It’s whooping funny!”
We giggled for a while before I carried the dishes back to the kitchen. In a while, not hearing anything, I peeked in on him. At first I thought he was crying, or praying, the way he had his head resting in his right hand. Then I heard the woman on TV.
“My daddy give Joe and I a trip for our wedding present. Me and him has had the best time. It was Joe’s and I’s dream to travel and learn new languages. They say such things is broadening.”
Poppa was whispering ever so quietly, “We can only hope, dear pitiful Pearl…we can only hope.”
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