Turns out my mother was right. What comes out of our mouth defines us.
For that reason, she scrutinized our
language more closely than a political organizer does the polls. Participles had to agree with the
auxiliary. No “I seen” or “had
went” for her. In fact,
grammatical faux pas were for her nails
scratching on a blackboard. She
just couldn’t bear it. She
corrected us before the final sounds had escaped our lips.
Her secret weapon was that she could
monitor proficiency in two languages.
She was just as demanding in French. Should a wayward « moé » or « toé » slip
out, she would insist on our repeating the sentence using « moi » or
« toi ». She would have
nothing of patois; she insisted on standard
English or standard French.
I am indebted to my mother for her
relentless insistance on correct speech.
Her high standards gifted me with a lifelong love of language. Just ask my children. I have subjected them to the same discipline. In two languages. My mother knew instinctively that “Respect for language is
respect for yourself; it lifts you up” (Mikhail Barishnykov). Language peels back the veneer of
Armani suits, Coach handbags, and exquisite makeup to reveal a polished,
articulate individual. Or not. Grammatical
errors in speech prompt an axiomatic reevaluation of an individual’s true
competence.
Even more important, the words we use
communicate our values and our perspectives with respect to our personal and
professional lives. The word “allowed”,
for example, that partners sometimes use to describe what one or the other can
or cannot do, clarions control. If
I use tentative language, and suggest what options might exist, I suggest multiple pathways to an end rather than one
singular vision. If,
in my work as an educator, I speak of my “markbook ” and talk about all the
“correcting” I have to do, I am revealing my preferential pedagogy. If, in the same way, my speech talks
about “keeping records” or “providing feedback” or “reading student work,” I am also telegraphing my
philosophy. Our words
broadcast our approaches to our work and to our human relationships.
Dan and Chris Heath, in their book Switch: How to Change Things When Change Is
Hard, reiterate the point.
“Every culture,” the Heath brothers say, “whether national or
organizational, is shaped powerfully by its language” (p. 247). Our words transmit our beliefs, whether
we are aware or not. When a
colleague might ask me to resend a document she can’t find, and I have a
nagging feeling that maybe I forgot to send it in the first place, I feel
bathed in balm. The colleague
assumed the positive about me; her words are proof of her belief in people’s
good intentions.
I am so grateful to Maman for raising my
awareness of the impact of language.
Our words do indeed reveal
our inner selves, our values, and the quality of our interactions.
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