I mean, not just because he is my dad. But I am really glad he is my dad, because if he wasn't, I'd probably wish he was.
One of the reasons I would wish that my dad was my dad if he wasn't indeed my dad would be because of a conversation we had a few weeks ago:
dad: "Hey jo, I know how you like words; do you know the word, malapropism?"
geri: "Oh no. Here we go. He's been talking about this for days."
jo: "Hmmm... how do you spell it?"
dad: " m-a-l-e-p-r-o-p-i-s-m, I think... but I'm not sure." (I'm pretty sure I inherited my poor spelling abilities from my father. I've always marveled, along with my little brother, how someone as naturally and easily intelligent as my dad could be so terrible at spelling. Maybe I didn't inherit it from him... but it's a good excuse anyway.)
jo: "Hmmm, I've never heard of it or read it. What does it mean?"
dad: "Well... (I could see the excited grin my dad was trying to conceal as he began telling me the story behind this word. My dad has an extraordinary memory that you can tell is used way more often than he lets on. Though he has never told me before, I'm pretty sure my dad loves to share these little glimpses inside his memory and leave us in awe of what is found there.) ... it is when someone uses the wrong word, a word that sounds similar to the right one, in
a phrase or saying. Your aunt used it in her write-up about your grandma, my mom, only she called it a spoonerism which I think isn't it. I think the word is malapropism. It comes from a play by, oh... um... Sheridian where the character, Mrs. Malaprop makes a lot of this particular kind of mistake."jo: (by this time, I was flattered that my dad ever thought I'd know that word...) "What is a spoonerism?"
dad: (he looks at me for a split second with a look of, "you don't know, eh?" then continues) I'm pretty sure a spoonerism is when you mix up the first letter of two words... oh, what was the example the dictionary gave...? And I couldn't find malaprop in the dictionary, but I think I'm spelling it wrong." (He heads for his trusty dictionary that he's had since way before any of us kids were born. Ever since I can remember my dad has made me look up words in this same dictionary. I'd have a question about a word and he'd say, "Well, why don't we look it up?" which meant, "Go get the dictionary and look it up for yourself. I'll help you once you have it." My sister had it rebound for Christmas one year I remember. It's still one of my favorite things about my dad. I don't think it's moved from it's spot on the top shelf of the bookshelf for years. We've got to know where it is at a moments notice, you know.)
chad: "Why don't we use my computer to look it up?" (Said in his always cheerful way. Anything is possible with chad I've noticed. My little brother and I have talked about that too. I like his way.)
geri: "We need to get to the bottom of this!" (She says with her delightful sarcasm)
dad: "Oh, you can do that? Yeah, let's do that." (He looks up 'spoonerism' for me in the good ol' paper and ink dictionary and shares the example they give so that I understand. I'm loving every minute of this.)
jo: "I've never heard of either of these words, but you can be sure I'm going to try to use them." (I say with a laugh, knowing that it isn't every day you come upon a chance to use the word 'spoonerism').
dad: (dismissing my harmless gibe) "Yeah, they're great words."
With chad's help we discovered that dad was indeed spelling the word wrong and that, owing to the definitions, my aunt probably should have used the word 'malapropism' instead. This conversation lead to absorbing stories about a grandmother who died when I was only 1 year old and who I never knew. I loved it.
And I love my dad.
I bet you wish he was your dad.
malaprop |ˈmaləˌpräp| (also malapropism)
noun
the mistaken use of a word in place of a similar-sounding one, often with unintentionally amusing effect, as in, for example, “dance a flamingo ” (instead of flamenco).
ORIGIN mid 19th cent.: from the name of the character Mrs. Malaprop in Sheridan's play The Rivals (1775) + -ism .
spoonerism |ˈspoōnəˌrizəm|
noun
a verbal error in which a speaker accidentally transposes the initial sounds or letters of two or more words, often to humorous effect, as in the sentence you have hissed the mystery lectures, accidentally spoken instead of the intended sentence you have missed the history lectures.
ORIGIN early 20th cent.: named after the Rev. W. A. Spooner (1844–1930), an English scholar who reputedly made such errors in speaking.
This one is for you, kel >> "Lorraine, my density has brought me to you."; "Yes! I'm George! I'm your density!" —George McFly, Back to the Future
noun
the mistaken use of a word in place of a similar-sounding one, often with unintentionally amusing effect, as in, for example, “dance a flamingo ” (instead of flamenco).
ORIGIN mid 19th cent.: from the name of the character Mrs. Malaprop in Sheridan's play The Rivals (1775) + -ism .
spoonerism |ˈspoōnəˌrizəm|
noun
a verbal error in which a speaker accidentally transposes the initial sounds or letters of two or more words, often to humorous effect, as in the sentence you have hissed the mystery lectures, accidentally spoken instead of the intended sentence you have missed the history lectures.
ORIGIN early 20th cent.: named after the Rev. W. A. Spooner (1844–1930), an English scholar who reputedly made such errors in speaking.
This one is for you, kel >> "Lorraine, my density has brought me to you."; "Yes! I'm George! I'm your density!" —George McFly, Back to the Future
3 comments:
I couldn't have a better father in law. (However, I love my Dad enough to say that I wouldn't want another Dad but your Dad would be a close 2nd.)
I really enjoyed this post! I felt like I was in the kitchen, listening to this conversation as I read it. I will now try to use these words from now on, as I am guilty of them both.
Even if I didn't know that my husband was your dad's nephew, I'd say they were related. We often have similar discussions. My favorite was when Fred and I were having a little argument while we were at Aunt Khali's one Sunday. I maintained that a fiddle and a violin were different--which they aren't. Fred was right, as always. He pointed to his head and said, "THIS is an amazing brain." Something that runs in the family apparently.
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