Shelly has
been so kind as to let me guest post in order to promote my recently released
book, Missed Periods and Other Grammar
Scares. And since, like me, I am
sure you come here to read her wonderful stories, I am going to try to tell a story, but I apologize in
advance: it will not be as beautifully told as Shelly’s.
On my first day of
class of teaching college English, I think I was the most nervous I had ever
been in my life. I didn’t have my teaching credentials, just my master’s degree—meaning
I had never even stood in front of a classroom before. I remember that taking
roll was my best friend. I wished I could stand behind the podium and read off
names for the full hour.
And then, halfway
through, my new best friend betrayed me. It presented me with this name:
Keith Knippel
Five minutes into
class and I was going to have to utter the word “nipple” in front of my
students! Awesome!
But I didn’t.
Instead, I experienced an apple hitting Newton on the head moment of brilliance.
I’ll never know whether Keith pronounces it this way or not, but without
missing a beat, I called out Keith Knip Ell—accent on the E.
After that it all
went smoothly, but unfortunately, all good things come to an end. However, even
though I was still nervous, I had a plan for an ice breaker I was pretty proud
of. Since it was a basic English class and grammar was a main part of the
curriculum, I thought the students would think I was super cool if we played a
beloved grammar-related game from our youth: Mad Libs.
I announced my plan,
and it wasn’t met with quite as much excitement as I had anticipated, but it was the first day of class, so I figured
they were probably still too shy to unleash their unbridled enthusiasm.
I sat on the desk,
opened up the Mad Libs book to the first page, and picked a random name from
the roll sheet.
Me: Maria, give me a
verb.
Maria (after a
moment): Is that the one that’s a person or a place?
Me: No, that’s a
noun. A verb is an action word like run or jump
Maria: Run
Me: Brian, give me a
pronoun
Brian: Looking at me
like I asked him to give me a non-defining relative clause.
My requests for
adverbs and adjectives were met with similar bewilderment, and I considered
running out of the room and going back to waiting tables.
It was that Mad Libs
experience coupled with the shock that I experienced when I received back the
first batch of grammatically terrifying essays that inspired me to take on
grammar as my raison d’ etre. I just
couldn’t sit by and live in a world in which the word “I” was no longer capitalized
and proper spelling was left up to interpretation.
I immediately
realized I’d have to devise a jargon-free, user-friendly way to dispense the
information. My students’ glazed over expressions made me realize I’d have to
take it one step further and give grammar an extreme make-over: I had to swap
its eyeglasses for contacts, unpin its bun and let its hair down, and swap out
its stodgy suit for leopard print and sequins.
Hence, I developed a
way of teaching grammar that is simple, humorous, and a bit risqué. With Missed Periods and Other Grammar Scares,
I hope to share this approach with the general public—because there is
something quite thrilling and liberating about feeling 100% confident about
where you placed that comma.
