Bookish Judgment

Long ago on a forgotten blog I wrote about an experience with the aphorism "Don't judge a book by its cover." I was in high school. There was a student teacher. She wasn't the picture of perfection. She was gangly with limbs that poked blindly out of her shapeless clothing. Her hair needed the gift of shape and a good anti-frizz treatment. And her mannerisms were more masculine than mine which, as I have come to find out through personal experience and thesis-related research, really isn't saying much at all. At all.

I was content to go through my life with those judgments radiating outward but one day after school, my friend Emily had a question for this teacher. As I was attached at Emily's hip--as a part of my enjoyment of the enlightening freedom of a driver's license I was probably waiting to give her a ride home--I became a participant observer of the conversation. What I learned took my breath away.

This woman had been to war, this woman had been through poverty, this woman was pregnant, this woman was still pursuing her dream despite it having been delayed by some ten odd years. Color me shocked. In this light she became not a testament to God's cruelty but a testament to perseverance and human dignity. Perhaps because I naturally tend towards shallowness or perhaps because I blogged about the experience thereby making it more significant, this is my first remembered experience involving me judging someone else. This woman wasn't someone to be derided but rather someone to cherish as a cultural example. How could I have been so wrong?

I fled home in a fit of universal inspiration and wrote my little heart out about the experience. Then I uploaded the file to my web space (this was pre-Xanga, Wordpress, Blogger, MySpace, or facebook). Then I probably got an after-school snack and watched a Martha Steward rerun (because there were signs) in the golden haze of universal coherence and self satisfaction.

When I checked back I had a rather nasty comment. As was the trend, this blog was hosted on someone's private domain and as such no longer exists. If it did I could be more specific but the jist of the comment was as follows: "This blog entry is nothing more than teenage bullshit. That saying has been around for hundreds of years. It's cliche. Find something else to write about. You're a loser. Your whole blog sucks."

I stopped blogging for a while after that. But more importantly I think I internalized that message about my writing and about the larger sphere of life. In some sense it is true: people want to read about things that are new and interesting. Musing on an adage isn't necessarily profound. But it is also false and here's why.

I have this whole gratitude blog happening and, despite my lapses in the original plan of daily blogging, the mode of thinking where I question "What are you grateful for today? What today has changed your outlook on your tomorrow?" has lodged into my mind. And today I found myself grateful for a piece of writing that, albeit inadvertently, prompted the old judging books by their covers moment.

I'm currently enjoying The Glamour of Grammar: A Guide to the Magic and Mystery of Practical English by Roy Peter Clark. It's incredibly thought-provoking if you A) like writing, B) teach writing, or C) have any shred of interest in the language in which you communicate. Clark starts out chapter eighteen with "In my senior year in high school, 1966, I played the keyboard in a garage band called T.S. and the Eliots. We played at school dances and sock hops and dominated the school party scene along with our rivals the Aardvarks, led by my friend Joe Edmundson. Joe and I wound up in college together and joined forces to form Tuesday's Children, playing songs form the Beatles, the Doors, Jimi Hendrix, and our favorites, the Rascals" (89).*

Upon reading this, my brain immediately conjured images from a former student's presentation about the value of music in school. There he was. Shirtless, making the singing face, rooted in front of a microphone...in someone's garage. In the context of a student presentation it makes sense. Young, big dreams. But that image of a young didn't fit so congruently with Mr. Roy Peter Clark. I thought to myself Wait a minute. This guy is writing a book about grammar. About the glamour of grammar. No way did he ever play guitar shirtless in someone's garage.

Then I looked at the author's picture on the back flap. There, behind the receding hairline and the scholarly, professor glasses, is the hint of a smirk and twinkle of eye that would fit perfectly behind the frame of a guitar and mic. Despite my respect for his book, I had prejudged this man. Pigeonholed him behind his professor desk. Limited the value of his experience to the realm of "only" rather than "and."

And there it was. Again. That silly, stupid message about book judging and its consequences. So I guess the point is even if they adages are worn and make you think "well, duh" that doesn't mean they aren't true. Doesn't mean we don't need reminded of them every once in a while.

And the larger message for this blog is an affirming one for me and for my goals as a writer: writing is the perfect medium for exploring these "well, duh" moments. For translating lightning-quick flashes of realization into gratitude-worthy, applicable moments that really can be applied to tomorrow. And today. And yesterday.

So today I'm thankful for grammar books, for Roy Peter Clark, for author photographs, old blogs, new blogs, and jerk-face commentators who, even nine years later, inspire us to speak out about our world.

*© Roy Peter Clark--no copyright infringement intended.