A Sweet B-

Last Sunday, I read a fabulous post by some obscure blogger about gratitude, entitled “Can We Stop Talking About Gratitude?” He mentioned that we should act on it, as well as talk about it. Personally, that challenge was exactly what I needed to hear. So I got busy.

There is one particular person I want to thank, but have not done so – for over 34 years. Does it sound like there is a story coming…?  Yup.

My freshman year at BYU was great year for me. I tried to do it all: Meet girls, have fun living in the dorms, get ready for my mission, and get good grades. (Sadly, in that order.)

Some of the General Education classed were notoriously hard, but I knew that I also had registered for classes that I would be able to breeze through. Particularly English. In High School, I really enjoyed it, got good grades and felt confident in my writing abilities.

The first week of class, my English teacher (or maybe my T.A.- I don’t know) gave us an assignment to write our first essay. No problem. I wrote it out, typed it on my trusty old typewriter, and turned it in – not giving it a second thought.

The next week, he returned the papers to us. I took my essay and looked to see my grade. There was none. Across the first page of the essay was a giant red “X”.

In the corner he had written the words, “Come talk to me about this.”

I was chapped. I waited until after everyone filed from the room, then approached him at the lectern.

“You wanted to talk to me?”

“Yes. Do you know why I didn’t grade your essay?”

“Honestly? I have no idea.”

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t even read it.”

“I don’t understand – it didn’t make sense?”

“Oh, I understood what you were trying to say, but your grammar is so bad, so terrible that I can’t possibly grade this.”

“Can I fix it and resubmit?”

“Later. What I want you to do is go to the Writing Lab. There are computer programs that I want you to work through to learn about basic grammar. Spend 20 hours in the Writing Lab, bring me a form showing you completed it, and, after that, I will grade your papers. But not until then.”

I was baffled. Perplexed. I nailed English in High School. I got good grades on my essays, and creative writing. Now, here in college, I was being treated like a moron. Not only was I baffled, I was mad.

Dropping the class wasn’t an option – and back then, getting your classes was not an easy task. So that was off the table. My only recourse? Hit the Writing Lab at the library, or fail.

Computers were just making their way into education, and I was curious to see what this would entail. (I had taken Basic and Fortran in High School) My required coursework consisted of instruction, practice and a brief test.

It was when I looked through the types of things I would be learning that a lightbulb went on.

• Comma splices.
• Run-on sentences.
• Dangling participles.
• Fragments.
• Misplaced modifiers.
• ..etc.

I had no clue what the stupid computer was even talking about! This wasn’t English! I knew English.

• I could find all the dirty parts in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales.
• I could write poetry about how I spent my summer vacation. In Haiku even.
• I could write about how Kafka must have felt when he turned into a giant cockroach.
• I understood the political parallels in “Animal Farm.”
• I could share my innermost feelings through my words.

As I worked through the 20 hours of computer assignments, I realized my problem: I was a child of the 70’s. My English instruction was about feeling and interpretation. Nobody ever taught me about structure or rules.

So I spent the required time at the Writing Lab and finished all of the assignments – and some extra for good measure. I actually learned something. I took the completion certificate to my teacher, who asked me what I thought. I told him that it was good for me.

From that point on, he started grading my papers – and he was still tough. Just because I was beginning to learn the rules, didn’t mean I understood them very well.

Eventually, by the end of the semester, I was doing better, and getting consistently higher marks. I ended up with a B- for the class. I loved that B-.  I was prouder of that Freshman “B-” than of any “A” I ever received. (More proud? Maybe.)

That English instructor, through his stubborn refusal to accept my shoddy work, impacted my college career, and my life. I imagine he could have let me skate through, like so many others had, but he didn’t. He called me out, even at the risk of humiliating me. He showed me how to improve, and then set the expectation. I rose to the challenge.

I am grateful to that BYU instructor. I am in the process of tracking him down so that I can thank him properly. I will keep you posted on my progress.

Note to those who are now going through the post and correcting my grammar: Please don’t send me corrections. This ain’t college. My grammar here is not perfect. Sometimes it is from laziness, other times it is from forgetfulness, and sometimes it is just plain on purpose because I like the way it reads.

The teaching of grammar ebbs and flows. Right now there seems to be more of a trend that self-expression trumps grammar, and that the rules need not apply. Perhaps. I see writing more like a Jazz pianist sees music: Before you can improvise, you need to know how to play.

 

Here

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