Mixed Up Lines

A few years ago, when my daughter came home from school, she stormed over to me and said, “I am so angry with you!” This didn’t happen often, so I was concerned. “You have ruined me!” she told me.

She explained that in class someone had said, “You can lead a horse to water…” and my daughter had added, “but you can’t make it swim.” The room broke out in laughter and she didn’t understand why.

I did. You probably do. I understood why she was upset with me.  Oops.

Similarly, if I accidentally rhyme in class, I say that “I’m a poet and I’m not consciously aware of that fact.” This wouldn’t get my daughter in trouble – I think.

I love to play with words, phrases, letters, and language. I don’t say the proverb the regular way; I mess around with it. I can’t remember the last time I talked about that horse drinking. My daughter had only heard my riff on the original. Now she knows.

I am constantly mixing up language in class. My speech is peppered with spoonerisms. Spoonerisms are the mixing up of the initial constant sounds of a phrase or sentence. My students know exactly what I want them to do if I tell them to go sack to your beats. Taking a cue from the wonderful lirty dies of Capitol Steps, I often address them as Jadies and Lentleman. My Freshman English students play the Punday Suzzle, and homeroom says the ledge of pallegiance every day. 

One year, my Senior English class surprised me with a special gift at the end of the year. It was a long, large, and flat wrapped package. When I opened it, I couldn’t contain my laughter. It was a pair of pruning cutters. Yes, it was a gift of shears. "Gifting shears" is my frequent transition statement – another spoonerism.

Of course, I love puns! I tell kids that I am very impatient: I have a wait problem. I encourage them to imitate Shakespeare and punish each other by being bad to the bard. As we open our computers (or notebooks) to journal or start an essay, I tell students to “do the write thing!” If they don’t start fast enough, I tell them to “write away” or to do it “write now!” Yes, sometimes my puns get a groan. That is second place to a laugh, but I’ll take it.

Of course, there are always students who finish the writing too quickly. They set aside their pens or machines and look at me and say that they are done. I shake my head and tell them that they are still rare, maybe medium rare or medium, but they are certainly not done, and I want their work to be well done!

Then one will ask if it is okay that they finish anyway. I have perfected the art of saying “no” but shaking my head up and down. As you would expect, this is confusing. My non-verbal communication is saying one thing and my voice is saying the opposite. “Which is it?” They ask. Yes, that is the question.

When discussing certain literary elements, I always pretend that I am the percussionist at the back of the band and have crashed my two big pieces of metal together.  When we start to decode those eyes in Gatsby or the sea in A Tale of Two Cities, students also get the pun cymbal and symbol.

My former student Aaron (and several others) reminded me that, when I would check for understanding, I would ask in my very very bad Italian: “Catfish?” Similarly, Lucas reminded me that my French is as poor as my Italian. While we may say, “please” in English, I frequently thank students with “mercy buckets.”

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Language is not static. I encourage kids to play with language. As we write and speak, we must think about not just what we are saying, but the words we use. Language forms the foundation of our thought. Changing our words can change our perception. Language matters. Words matters. I hope my mixed up word playfulness gives kids permission to play along!