On Tornados

When I was seven, I slept through a tornado.  

That’s not as unusual as it sounds; my room was already in the basement, and the tornado didn’t come near our house, so my parents saw no reason to wake me.  Furthermore, the neighborhood’s tornado siren always sounds faint inside the house, and the storm itself didn’t make any more noise than a usual storm.  When I was told about the tornado the next morning, in my child-like way, I felt impressed by my “feat”--it seemed like a bragging point.  It doesn’t now, of course; sleeping during a tornado due to ignorance is not particularly laudable or even strange.  However, it’s an indication of my upbringing, which has led me to perceive tornados as an interesting natural phenomenon to be cautious of but not to fear.  

I’m well aware that many out-of-staters and Kansans alike find tornados terribly frightening.  I presumably acquired my ambivalence by observing and imitating the calm, prudent attitudes of my parents and teachers, who I’m sure first exposed me to tornados through tornado drills during preschool and elementary school.  Mom has also reported that I watched The Wizard of Oz repeatedly as a five-year-old.  Naturally, I now have no memory of doing so and no notion of what I thought of Hollywood’s tornado, nor its relation to me or my state.  Still,  these unremembered events surely affected the way I perceived that tornado in second grade.

    Tornado and fire drills were both mandatory at Pleasant Hill Elementary, and in later grades, I vaguely remember the space we used for the former--a long, featureless concrete room embedded in the hill for which our school was named.  We accessed it through the kindergarten or one of the first grade classrooms, which took up the outer part of the walk-out basement.  There we were made to sit in rows.  To the teachers standing over us as monitors, we must have looked like a bunch of funny turtles, bent over our crossed legs and covering our necks with our hands.

    The next tornado I recall struck while I was in summer daycare at Temple Beth Shalom (in cooperation with Topeka’s YWCA).  I might have been eight or nine.  We were herded toward the basement, and rumor quickly spread through the ranks that this was a real tornado rather than a drill.  The steps we descended paused at a landing before turning and continuing down, and I was one of several kids who paused to gape out the rain-speckled window there, hoping to see the tornado.  Our caretakers scolded us and made us continue downstairs.  I remember feeling irritated with them, certain that our watching wasn’t nearly as dangerous as they supposed.

In sixth grade, our class toured Washburn University.  The only part of that excursion I remember, however, was the room with aftermath photos of the devastating 1960s tornado that tore through Washburn U. and other parts of Topeka.  I remember feeling amazed by the amount of destruction, and I remember--piecemeal--our teacher’s recollection of hiding below their stairs during that event and how she felt when she and her family emerged.

That was also the year we frequently went outside to work on a compost project for our science lessons.  I recall sitting on the hill while this student or that dug through the compost and made observations.  One of those days, some of us were distracted, studying some thick clouds amassing, which we speculated were thunderheads.  Before we’d finished our work with the compost, we heard the tornado sirens begin, though the sun still shone in part of the sky.  We returned inside with a mixture of reluctance and excitement.  

The movie Twister came out in 1996, and my family watched it some time after it came out on video.  Unlike the main characters, I was a cautious child and fond of my comforts, not inclined to put myself in danger or get wet however interesting it might be to study something like a tornado, but I did once run into a downpour with wild delight to investigate a new stream that had appeared in our yard parallel to the creek a dozen yards away.  My dad was furious when I didn’t come back immediately when he called.  Even though there wasn’t a tornado, lightning was another very real danger which may have passed through the water to me or may have struck one of the giant cottonwoods by our creek and sheared off a huge branch above my head, which it has done in the past (sheared off a branch, that is--not over my head).

When the tornado sirens sound now when I’m at home, I unplug my laptop in case of a lightning strike and spend a few moments examining the sky from the screen door.  Although our basement is a creepy, spider-filled place where I don’t like to linger doing laundry too long, eventually, I’ll grab the flashlight and a book, and go sit on the basement steps (it’s not possible to sit under them, and there’s no way I’m venturing into the poorly-lit, unclean other half of the basement where I might hide in what was to be a closet before mold made the basement uninhabitable).  When multiple people are present, we may sit on top of the dryer or on a folding chair brought down from the kitchen.  I may go up now and then to watch the rain or hail and to check for twisting clouds.  When Joel’s present, he watches the radar for us; when he’s not, I simply take my ease as best I can and wait for the sirens to stop, indicating it’s safe to ascend to ground level.
I wouldn’t say I have a cavalier attitude about tornados; I’m well aware of their dangers--Topeka’s 1960s tornado might have been before my lifetime, but Greensburg’s certainly isn’t.  Whether foolish or not, I don’t mind my little risky glimpses of nature’s power, knowing it is just a fraction of the power its Creator has at His disposal.  It awes and thrills me--though like anyone, I’d prefer the tornados chew up unused land instead of homes and crops and lives, but despite that, I’d rather live in unpredictable tornado country than in hurricane country, where those storms’ destruction and flooding are often more wide-spread than that left behind by our smaller, more powerful twisters.  I pray I’ll never have reason to regret this preference.

On the Deplorable Misuse of Commas

I recently “bought” a free Kindle book.  The characters and situation intrigued me, but I kept putting it down in frustration because it was rife with grammatical errors--misspellings, awkward wording, fragments, and run-ons.  In particular, the frequent lack of proper commas slowed my reading, created confusing sentences, and jarred me from the action, thus detracting from my overall enjoyment.  I was dismayed.  Such a great story!  Where was the author’s editor?  How did the author manage to publish it in that state!?  Oh, yes--by not charging anything.

I confess that I didn’t fully understand when to use commas until I became a tutor and had to teach others when to use them.  After studying them properly, I realized how essential they are for the readability of a text.  Yet more and more, I’ve seen an increase in the number of writers--from students to Amazon authors--who disregard their importance and willfully disdain to learn their rules.  As for why, the ease of releasing text messages, blogs, online novels, and so forth has inundated us with poorly edited language, so much that I suspect we’ve become inured to it.  We now find comma-related errors in everything from church bulletins to newsprint to bestselling books.  In my work as a tutor, I’ve even heard some students declare that correct grammar looks “wrong.”  (I could comment here on the state of public high school education, but it would sidetrack from my point.)  In short, the proper usage of commas in every medium has been going downhill, and I find it deplorable.

I am not keen to debate the respective merits of descriptive and prescriptive grammar here. On a topic such as this, however, one would do well to keep in mind these different perspectives: Descriptive grammar simply describes how people currently use a language, without saying whether it’s right or wrong.  Prescriptive grammar is the opposite--the collective “rules” of a language, devised by “experts” from current or previous grammatical trends and enforced by editors and teachers on both nonstandard dialects and succeeding generations.  

Any sensible person would agree that a certain amount of “prescription” is necessary in education for students to cultivate a common tongue and clear communication.  Still, a “living” language continually changes; we do not now write in the style of Chaucer or Shakespeare or Ben Franklin or Hawthorn, or even Mark Twain.  With language in constant flux, people will continually debate which changes should become part of our language’s prescriptive grammar, and which they should discourage from continued use.  For example, we’ve thankfully done away with the prescriptive rule about not splitting infinitives, which was misguidedly based on Latin rather than English grammar, and I wouldn’t be surprised if “they” will one day be accepted as the singular, neutral form of “he or she,” considering its frequent (currently "incorrect") use as such in both speech and writing.  

Now, what of commas?  From a descriptive point of view, for whatever reason, most modern writers do not use them consistently nor in accordance with the “rules.”  Shall we say, then, that prescriptive grammar should follow the majority and let some of the comma rules slide into oblivion?  Who decides which ones are unnecessary for clarity?  For as many cases in which a comma must be used to avoid confusion, other examples for the same rule may demonstrate that the sentence comes across clearly without one.  I, however, believe our current rules are valid and should be promoted as they are.

The uninitiated may not quite realize how, without proper commas, we are often forced to reread to capture the right meaning.  Upon sensing an error in our understanding, our eyes and mind dart back through the text, reinterpret the sentence, and continue on their way, rarely dwelling on the passage long enough to comprehend why they stumbled over the sentence the first time.  Other times, however, the confusion is so grave that we’re jolted unpleasantly out of the story and must study the sentence multiple times to guess at the author’s intended meaning.  The culprit may be poor wording or, just as often, a missing or misplaced comma.  For instance, “That night lights inside her apartment shone bright as day.”  “Night lights” at first seems like the subject of the sentence, but if so, “that” ought to read as “the” or “those,” so it’s surely incorrect.  A comma after night would clearly separate the setting (“that night”) from the subject (“lights”), helping the reader comprehend the sentence correctly the first time through.

Despite the likelihood of confusing readers, many authors insist on using their “natural grammar” in opposition to prescriptive rules and even logic.  For instance, many would rather place commas wherever they take a breath--even though a hasty or overly-careful reading may result in very peculiar pauses indeed.  (For instance, “Don, was tired.”)  Using a comma when a reader should breathe is useful advice for a fourth grader, perhaps, but terribly inaccurate and misleading for an older writer who is capable of a greater understanding and more consistent usage (assuming said writer does not suffer from dyslexia or any other number of issues that make writing more difficult than usual).  Continuing to follow such a flawed concept into adulthood strikes me as naive and presumptuous--an insistence on one’s own, untutored preference over what would be most convenient and efficient for the reader. 

One must understand that comma correctness is primarily necessary to prose.  Poetry is a different matter--in part because ambiguity is an artistic technique and writers may want the reader to dwell upon and reread the lines in various ways to find some profound meaning for themselves. Grammatical ambiguity in fiction, however, should serve only as a means for humor or as a plot complication between characters, never as a possible stumbling block for readers.  One might also make an exception for an intentional digression, though I can think of no suitable examples.  Furthermore, should an author wish to break a rule to achieve a literary effect, sense dictates that said author should first understand the rules and the possible consequences of breaking them.  The rest of the prose needs to state ideas clearly.  Using commas correctly will by no means diminish the author’s ability to write creatively or vividly and will likely enhance the piece by allowing the text to flow unnoticed below the action occurring in the reader's imagination.

I'll leave the particulars of various comma rules for another time.

On Essays and Expectations

        As a Writing Paraprofessional at a community college, I maintain our tutors' supply of handouts on all manner of grammatical and stylistic topics, often improving old handouts or writing new ones as needed.  Some time ago, I wrote the following handout, which answers the question I hear most from students: "What does my teacher expect from my essay?"  I'm rather proud of how well it explains universal college-level expectations for essays while also making a case for the existence and assignment of such essays.

What Professors Expect from Student Essays

Or How to Write A-level Essays

Professors expect you to follow the assignment directions.

                Anywhere you go or work, you will find certain expectations, and whether fair or not, you must learn and meet them to succeed.  Following an assignment shows, first, that you’re able to read and follow directions—a basic skill you need in any job.  Second, it respects the teacher and implies you care about your academic success—you’re not arrogantly blowing off the directions because you think they’re unimportant.  Also, some directions (such as using MLA or APA format to cite your sources) will keep you from plagiarizing, which can earn you a failing grade or expulsion.  Therefore, take special note of instructors’ directions about writing a given length, covering certain topics, following a specific format, avoiding certain words, etc..

Professors expect you to write in a logical, organized manner.

                Follow Western essay organization.  Start with an imaginative introduction, which may give background facts but won’t yet develop the supporting points.  End the intro with a clear, specific thesis (position statement) that you’ll support throughout the essay.  Start body paragraphs with a topic sentence, and order supporting points and examples sensibly.  Use parallel structure and transitions to help readers follow your train of thought.  Explain or support debatable statements, and avoid logical fallacies (bad reasoning).  Conclude by summarizing the supporting points and thesis—in new wording—and closing with a thought-provoking final statement or question.  (If you don’t know a term, look it up and practice writing it.)

Professors expect you to demonstrate deep thinking.

Professors assign essays in college because they’re the best way to evaluate how deeply you’re thinking about what you’ve learned; instructors will see immediately if you’ve only learned ideas on a low level like mere memorization and regurgitation.  Instead, they expect you to evaluate ideas, synthesize them with old ideas, apply them to your life or theoretical situations, and moreover, communicate your understanding of the ideas clearly and uniquely.

Professors expect you to use relevant details.

All statements, details, explanations, and examples must support the thesis well and be complete and clear.  Delete “bunny trails”—details or statements unrelated to the thesis.   If you feel a bunny trail relates, but the relation isn’t clear, clarify how it supports the thesis.  Don’t leave readers with any questions about your meaning, and remember that grammar and word choice may affect the clarity of your ideas.  If you don’t know how to make an awkward sentence clearer, try completely rewriting it or splitting it into separate sentences.   

Professors expect you to use appropriate word choices.

                Instructors assume you have a sizeable vocabulary by the time you reach college, and they expect you’ll use words that are correct, specific, vivid, concise, and varied.   Only use informal words like “well, you see,” “uh,” “yeah, so,” etc. when quoting someone directly.  Beware awkward wording, incorrect word choices, too many weak verbs (is, are, was, were, am, be, being), vague words (such as “thing” and “stuff”), unclear pronoun references, unnecessary repetition, and wordy phrasing that you could reduce with more precise wording.  Avoid condescending to your reader’s intelligence with simplistic words and transitions that go without saying.  Also beware of misspelling words with their homophone or another similar word, such as writing “defiantly” for “definitely” or “they’re” for “their.”  Finally, many instructors also prefer you avoid potentially offensive language, whether derogatory terms, obscenities, or profanities; you can narrate “He swore” or “She called him names that would have shocked her mother” instead of offending readers with the words themselves.

Professors expect you to use correct grammar.

Writing correctly makes you look more knowledgeable, dependable, and professional, and it helps your audience read and understand your work more easily.  Also, whether it’s correct or not, people equate poor grammar with poor intelligence, so readers will likely treat an ungrammatical essay (or resume or article) with disrespect rather than thoughtful consideration, even if the content makes good points.  Therefore, learn as much about the rules of grammar as you can, and practice them so you can write with more confidence.   If you have a learning disability that makes using good grammar difficult, ask for help from your teachers, counselors, friends, or family after doing as much as you can on your own.

Professors expect you to revise and proofread multiple times.

                Unless you’re a stupendous writer or your instructor is remarkably lenient, a paper written the night before it’s due and that has not undergone any revision or proofreading will likely earn a poor grade.  Most writers have to proofread more than once to catch the majority of their errors.  Refusing to revise is 1) arrogant, for even well-loved, published writers revise and need an editor’s help, 2) disrespectful, for it implies the teacher and class are not worth the effort, and 3) unwise, for it makes you look less capable than you really are and can earn you a lower grade than you’re capable of earning.  Revise and proofread till you’re pleased with the result.

On History

As schoolchildren, we form loose, disconnected impressions of history—mental pictures built largely on paintings, photos, and movies of the American Civil War, the Middle Ages, the Wild West, the Victorian Age, the Oregon Trail, prehistory, the Space Age, and so forth.  We have no idea how or in what order these events or eras connect—or perhaps even that they connect at all.  However, as our minds mature, if we properly pursue our studies in history, we start to make connections and see, for example, that the treaties made in the years before 1914 led to the “Powder Keg of Europe” and the Great War, and that decisions at the end of the first world war led to the second, and so on.  And then, at some point along the way, some students of history receive an epiphany; their brains  become able to envision history—not as a list of names and dates, but as a fully interwoven tapestry of human stories.  At that point, music history, political history, technological history, geographical history, and all the rest becomes one: a huge, streamlined, moving force of persons and cultures, causes and effects flowing on from Creation till now, shaping our present in numerous ineffable ways.   It’s a glorious—and somewhat frightening—vision.

 Whether we reach this interconnected vision of history or not, our worldview affects our conception of history, and our conception of history forms a large part of our comprehensive worldview.  That is to say, depending on the perspectives or philosophies we bring to our vision of history, we may conceive of ourselves and humanity in any number of ways, between seeing our place in history as insignificant and the value of a few lives as miniscule compared with either the Good of Mankind or an eternal existence—or on the other hand, seeing each life as a heavenly gift of equal, high value, capable of affecting history, and the future, as (in the much-quoted metaphor) the smallest stone can still send ripples through a pond.  From this worldview (which changes over time on the basis of new information and ideas), we think and act accordingly in all facets of our lives.  For example, those who believe in an evolutionary view of history, feel that some peoples are more evolved than others, and see natural selection as a desirable event may, as Hitler and Margaret Sanger did, actively participate in genocide, abortion, and other forms of unnatural selection, which someone with a religious or humanistic view of history would see as morally and ethically abhorrent.  Our worldview, then, can be affected—and preferably improved—by our understanding of history.  The same is true vice versa.

Reluctant students of history would be best off matching their historical studies to their non-historical interests.  For example, someone interested in technology could study great inventors and inventions of the past.  Someone interested in sports could read sport histories and biographies of famous players.  Someone interested in stories could read books like Rifles for Waite and Pride and Prejudice.  Someone interested in movies could watch films like Luther and Memoirs of a Geisha.  Matching what we learn to our interests in the beginning will counteract initial aversions to “history,” and a little exposure to the past may lead to curiosity about related matters.  For instance, a movie lover watching Downton Abbey might become curious about the business with the household’s new telephone, which may lead to them Googling information about telephone history, which may lead to a study of Alexander Graham Bell, which may lead to aeronautics and then perhaps the legend of Icarus, and so on.  For younger generations, the format of sites like Wikipedia lends itself well to their casual, episodic study habits, for they can easily click links to related terms and thus expand their knowledge based on their own curiosity rather than the dictates of the pre-selected material in a textbook.  Once students have laid a basic historical foundation in their minds and kindled an interest for certain areas of history, students may be open to more reliable, sequential, academic sources of information and willingly choose to increase their knowledge thereby.

In brief, the study of the world’s history is relevant and valuable for all people.  Historical knowledge makes it much easier to place historical references in context, to interpret current events in light of their historical context, and to compare current events to similar historical events so we can learn from past mistakes, extrapolate probable outcomes, and thus plan better for the future.  Our goal, I feel, should be a mature, integrated vision of history, which provides a framework for inserting new information.  As time goes on and we learn more—intentionally or incidentally—our historical vision will gain color and fullness, making us more self- and culturally-aware and better prepared for the future.  Best of all for those turned off by such a dry, useful-sounding description, learning history is FUN!  It's like reading a novel with an infinite number of volumes and abridgments to choose from; you'll never be bored with the right story in hand, and you're not likely to run out of reading material anytime soon.

On Ogden Nash

I have discovered Ogden Nash,

For I chanced upon a stash

Of his marvelous work all tucked away

That apparently my teachers did mislay--

Instead encouraging Fitzgerald and Shakespeare

And other such authors through each long year.

But Nash is ever more amusing

And I’d rather be perusing

All his poetry

on celery,

on Columbus and the common cold,

Than reading lofty lines on Troilus and Cressida, of old,

Or of Gatsby and Daisy, or Jake and Lady Brett Ashley

Who act so appallingly rashly

And aren’t delightful a whit.

(Though that’s not the only reason to read, I admit.)

I’ll rectify this deprivation

And start a long examination

Of his works with great elation

And then sit back in sated contemplation.

                       ~Leanna Coon

Nash's work, of which I've heard the odd quote over the years but never really read, is indeed a recent "discovery."  His style rather puts me in mind of a Shel Silverstein for adults.  I tried to follow his style a bit in the poem above with the varying line lengths and rhyming and all that.  In case you’re interested, his work is available for anyone's perusal at http://www.poemhunter.com/ogden-nash/poems/.

On Life and Toilet Paper

        With my birthday so recently come and gone, I feel reflective on our human perceptions of time, life, and age.  However, the cartoonist Brian Crane (doubtless quoting others) has already written such thought-provoking and humorous strips on the subject, I decided to share a couple of them in lieu of my own thoughts and to let you interpret them on your own.  Please enjoy (and I do hope this doesn't count as copyright infringement . . . ).