The Right Wrong Word - #1

Dear Boo and Bubble,

In 1883, your quadruple-great grandfather, Joseph Benson Cottrell, penned the following:

“Dictionaries define a word by other words, and then in their definition use the word they have defined; so words reciprocate in defining themselves and one another.

Enslavement to words is only to be escaped by the use of language as it is accommodated to the exigencies of the evolution of thought.  Logicians reprobate what is termed a play upon words; and justly.  Lovers of the truth abhor quite as much having their minds played upon by words.” 

To me, this reflects his understanding of the power of words and how those who study them can master not only the expression of their own thoughts but also how those thoughts influence others.

Being a self-fancied writer of sorts, I’ve always had a great deal of respect for words – they are, after all, the one constant in mankind’s development.  Our modes of transportation, our types of shelter, our creature comforts, our methods of communication all change and advance with each generation.  But words remain the foundation upon which we share our ideas and concepts on a regular basis.   

Can you imagine going through the day and not saying a word?  I certainly can’t….and the people who know me best can’t either!  

We receive all sorts of advice about words.  Choose your words carefully.

There are rhymes.  Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.  (Quite frankly, I’ve never believed this…words can cut as sharply as the sharpest knife or sting as easily as a bee.) 

I’m fascinated with how innocuous words can be until we assign them an owner.  We might agree with the thoughts they express until we find out who’s expressing them.  Seems like any more, it’s not what’s being said that matters, but the person saying it.

Words are interchangeable, of course, but sometimes people can get them confused like the lady who, when asked to describe her son’s appearance, said “Well, he’s pretty big and has blue eyes with blonde hair, but his hairline is secreting.”

Sometimes, though, a wrong word in just the right spot can create a more vivid and lively image. 

Years ago, when I was 6 and your great Uncle Bryant was 8, Mamaw Mary found a bargain on some T-Bone steaks at the grocery store.  Our family budget at the time inclined more towards hamburger, so this was a real treat.  As we sat around the small dining table in our apartment at University Ridge enjoying the meal, Bryant became pensive.

“Daddy, did this steak come from a bull or a steer?” he asked.

“Son, I don’t know, but whatever it came from, it sure is good,” Grandaddy Schaefer replied.

Bryant mulled that answer over, but didn’t seemed satisfied.

“Daddy, what’s the difference between a bull and a steer?”

This question took Granddaddy a little aback.  He certainly didn’t want to ruin the evening’s special meal by going into the details about the emasculation of male cattle, but he knew he couldn’t avoid an answer.  With what he thought was a stroke of genius, he responded – “Son, a steer is a bull that’s lost his ambition.”

At which point, I piped up, eager to comment on something about which I knew nothing. 

“That’s right, Bryant.  A steer is a bull that’s lost his ammunition!”