Grammar Lessons for Heroes
By Anne-Marie Kinne Hoppe
As a middle school English teacher and mother of three teenage daughters, I can provide testimony to the ravages this year has inflicted upon our youth. Every day I commiserate with colleagues as we watch helplessly and hopelessly as young people navigate the hallways behind masks that hide their smiles, their adolescent scowls, and their quirky personalities. The socially distant desks create chasms of silence in classrooms where raucous eighth graders brimming with energy and hormones should be acting like...you know...eighth graders, except they don’t. They just sit, surrounded in surreal isolation.
I also watched helplessly and hopelessly as the pernicious tentacles of severe depression ensnared my intelligent and radiant 17-year-old daughter, ultimately leading to crisis, which required acute and long-term treatment in places far, far away from the solace of the ordinary and the familiarity of the lengthening shadows of Nevada afternoons in autumn.
Meanwhile, each morning with the help of black coffee, I Scotch-taped myself together again, found my resolve in the apocalyptic smoke from the California wildfires, and tried my damndest to teach eighth graders the hero’s journey. The first part of a hero's journey is when regular, everyday people receive calls where they must leave their ordinary worlds and cross thresholds into strange and dangerous places, facing difficult roads of trials and ordeals. I couldn’t have imagined 12 months ago that this year would be an unwanted call to cross so many painful thresholds. I do imagine, however, that when the dust settles, Lin Manuel-Miranda will produce an award-winning Broadway play to examine the depth of this chapter of our collective hero’s journey. Until then, I suppose we all need to do our own examinations.
I spent hours in the sleepless throes of 2 am darkness, not sure if I was experiencing panic attacks or hot flashes, and composed and re-composed the narrative of how easily our solid ordinary world imploded in front of us. Being the nerdy English teacher that I am, I also contemplated how strangely relevant grammatical syntax is to this dark and dismal time. I found comfort in remembering that grammar provides structure to all things enduring. So forgive me for sounding a bit didactic as I assume my “teacher voice;” I get really excited about grammar.
Grammar Lesson #1: The coordinating conjunction “but” negates its antecedent, giving this small and seemingly meaningless word the power to invalidate, diminish and cancel other people’s experiences and perspectives. This little word is a sneaky thief of empathy and has the power to desensitize us to the struggles and hardships of others. Here are a few examples of “but talk” I’ve noticed this past year:
Students will wear masks and keep socially distant at school, BUT they have grit and will still be required to meet or exceed all essential standards.
Teachers do not have training or resources to deliver effective distance learning, BUT they are super creative. (Note: The use of the word “super” as an adverbial drives me super crazy.)
High school students cannot participate in sports and other extracurricular activities, BUT it could be worse, they could be living in post-war Europe.
Almost 500,000 lives have been lost to COVID-19, BUT many more people have survived it.
I confess I have done my share of “but talking” this year as I tried to reconcile my overwhelming frustrations with situations beyond my control. I have learned to become more mindful of my “buts” as this simple practice creates a brief pause into habitual thought patterns, allowing a slightly more gentle and patient approach to appreciate and acknowledge that everyone is at a different place on the road of trials.
Grammar Lesson #2: There is actually a book named The Power of And, ironically written for business professionals, not educators. “And” is the opposite of “but” because it creates a mindset of inclusion, elaboration, and collaboration, fostering a broadening of ideas and perspectives. Here are a few more examples:
We admire those who exemplified the courage to spend the holidays alone, AND we will again celebrate the sacred of together.
Students will be required to learn important content on Zoom, AND they will discover their ability to be successful in challenging situations.
Young adults and teenagers had their lives forfeited, their sports and their proms, their graduations, AND it sucks (pardon the term), and they will appreciate the gift and camaraderie of shared cultural traditions...eventually.
We are grateful for so many people who have survived COVID-19, AND our hearts ache for those who lost their lives in this ordeal, regardless if we know them or not.
Though the difference in language is subtle, the shift in attitude is seismic. I have been shaken out of the complacency of my own opinions and beliefs by learning to offer a gentle nod of grace to another person’s ordeal. In middle school speak, I am no longer a but, I am an and.
Grammar Lesson #3: For as much as I was hoping to emphatically mark the end of this year with an exclamation point disguised as a middle finger, heroes’ journeys—like pandemics—don’t abide by calendars. The second part of the hero’s journey is when heroes must cross the threshold back to the ordinary world. This is the most difficult part of the journey as it involves the process of atonement where heroes are required to make peace with their pasts, and forgive others and themselves. Without atonement, there is no resurrection. Without atonement, heroes will not find the elixir to make the world better.
Nothing represents this part of a hero’s journey better than the semicolon. The semicolon has become an important symbol to those who struggle with mental health, and I will admit I never paid much attention to its significance until we brought our daughter home from residential treatment on the winter solstice. The semicolon signifies the end of Part I while at the same time the beginning of Part II. Her homecoming on that day punctuated the end of darkness juxtaposed with the bright alignment of Saturn and Jupiter, another powerful and hopeful symbol, which looked curiously more like a semicolon than a conjunction. It was a gentle nod of grace that we had survived an ordeal and that all is well and will be. Who knew a rarely used and understated piece of punctuation could be so profound and powerful and necessary?
As all good lessons end with closure, I am confident that my daughter and all of our young people will continue to inspire us by their resiliency as they valiantly cross thresholds we cannot imagine. However, I am still lost somewhere in the middle of a semicolon where I’ve decided hot flashes are panic attacks, the body’s futile attempt to prevent yet another crossing of an unwanted threshold. As we continue this journey to the right side of the semicolon, I know that conjunctions will not heal the bitterness of our politics, and semicolons will not save lives or restore the economy. Grammar gives structure to all things enduring, including those three ancient heroic qualities quoted in 1 Corinthians: 13 that I, until recently, dismissed as cliche wall art in craft stores.
“And in the end these three remain: faith, hope, and love, AND the greatest of these is love.”
Godspeed.
Photo/Anne-Marie Kinne Hoppe.
Anne-Marie Kinne Hoppe earned her M.A. with an emphasis in writing from the University of Nevada, Reno, in 1997. She currently enjoys teaching middle school in Washoe County. She and her husband, Charlie, are proud of their three teenage daughters. They enjoy hiking and skiing and spending time together at Graeagle and the ocean.
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