See Dick run!Language has puzzled me ever since I first started reading about Dick and Jane playing with each other. As a child, my brain’s transference of letters and complete syllables made reading aloud a sweat-producing, pants-peeing experience.
Given enough time and tears I could figure out most words. The dose of medicine the little does swallow does make a small child cringe and a grown woman weep. And I’ll be ill in Ill. if I have to read aloud there.
I panicked seeing p’s, q’s, d’s, and b’s in words. The word dumb could be pump, dump, or bump. Quiet could be quite or quit. I never knew which. I stayed in a continued state of confusion which my parents and teachers didn’t understand back then.
“You’re just not concentrating,” they’d say, or worse yet, “You’re being dumb.” Or was I being pump or bump. Got me.
My father was a writer and books and magazines at our house were age inappropriate for children. “Daddy,” I remember asking, “Why do people send their money to Texas?”
“I’m not so sure they do,” he replied. “Why do you ask such a question?”
“These things,” I said, pointing to some resource information he was looking at. "They say, 'Everybody pays texas.' ” I bet California wishes they could set up such an arrangement.
Plus, of course, there were word twists. Rita and Wayne became Wita and Rayne, Uncle Tom and Aunt Martha became Uncle Mom and Aunt Tartha.
As my chronological age gathers speed, I find my mind slipping backwards towards those days of mixed letters. Just the other week Renee and I were at a garage sale where I unexpectedly asked the shocked seller, “How much for your “fucket of brogs?”
I know we're not welcome at that house anymore but I’m hoping Renee will start garage sale-ing with me again soon!
Given enough time and tears I could figure out most words. The dose of medicine the little does swallow does make a small child cringe and a grown woman weep. And I’ll be ill in Ill. if I have to read aloud there.
I panicked seeing p’s, q’s, d’s, and b’s in words. The word dumb could be pump, dump, or bump. Quiet could be quite or quit. I never knew which. I stayed in a continued state of confusion which my parents and teachers didn’t understand back then.
“You’re just not concentrating,” they’d say, or worse yet, “You’re being dumb.” Or was I being pump or bump. Got me.
My father was a writer and books and magazines at our house were age inappropriate for children. “Daddy,” I remember asking, “Why do people send their money to Texas?”
“I’m not so sure they do,” he replied. “Why do you ask such a question?”
“These things,” I said, pointing to some resource information he was looking at. "They say, 'Everybody pays texas.' ” I bet California wishes they could set up such an arrangement.
Plus, of course, there were word twists. Rita and Wayne became Wita and Rayne, Uncle Tom and Aunt Martha became Uncle Mom and Aunt Tartha.
As my chronological age gathers speed, I find my mind slipping backwards towards those days of mixed letters. Just the other week Renee and I were at a garage sale where I unexpectedly asked the shocked seller, “How much for your “fucket of brogs?”
I know we're not welcome at that house anymore but I’m hoping Renee will start garage sale-ing with me again soon!
