When I don’t understand things I simply avoid them, much like when I thought it a good idea to enroll in calculus 12, I never understood sigma. I tried — several times — before I decided to take it as a loss, coming to terms with the fact that I might never master it. Not worth the frustration, I forfeited the questions on assignments and during exams. It served me well, for awhile. Just like Kenny Rogers’ Gambler, I knew when to fold them. After a couple of low scores, I knew when to walk away — earning myself a double spare block for the rest of that term.
I recently started reading a new blog. I described the writer, Cate, to my sister as a captivating storyteller and retired journalist, who uses fancy words, like prosaic and acolyte. And I know she’s very talented, grammatically, because she uses that hyphen-line-thing, you know — that really big hyphen thing.
And then I learned its name, “The em dash,” she said, like it was no big deal. But it was a big deal — to me. She continued to educate me on the sophisticated and ever so versatile em dash, while I sat there, intrigued, and questioning my entire education.
Then, there they were, everywhere, mocking me and my inability to incorporate them into my writing. I counted five of them in my twenty minutes of bed time reading, five! Is this what separates the amateur writers from the esteemed ones?
I’m not unread, I had noticed them before, but no one had taught me about em dashes. Mr. Grant, my senior English teacher, must have known about them, he was the honours teacher after all. He let us plan an entire Elizabethan feast, complete with costumes and entertainment, but somehow he had forgotten about em dashes. It had been a contract negotiation year, complete with strike action — perhaps he had to trim that lesson. Perhaps, he didn’t know I would one day write a blog, aspiring to be a grammatically competent writer.
I minored in English, but the em dash was a skill I should have learned years prior. By the time I entered university, it was probably assumed I was already proficient in grammar usage — kind of like my high school gym class, where students pathetically attempted to hit a softball without any earlier instruction — completely not their fault, but still somewhat humiliating. Finally, I was made to feel grateful for the years of softball I endured as a young child.
I ended up taking calculus again, as an older and much wiser university student, determined to conquer the sigma sign, that had bested me years earlier. I succeeded. Sometimes, all we need is a little perspective and persistence, so I’m giving myself a grammar lesson.
Thank you, for bearing with me while I learn how to use them.
Next up: the colon.