For as long as I can remember, I have had a huge vocabulary. While I would love to thank the public education system for it, they didn’t really help much. Instead, I must thank my brothers.
Before you think I’m going to get all mushy here, let me explain.
When I was a wee lad of seven or so, my three older brothers delighted in teasing me mercilessly, like older brothers seem to be born to do. As you recall, they slit the throat of my Gumby and talked me into blowing on the dog’s face, telling me he loved it. He bit me on the cheek instead.
I was virtually powerless to stop them. I thought that my entire life would be defined by their constant teases and practical jokes, not to mention using me as their personal punching bag.
As I grew older, I began to wonder how I would ever be able to fight back. I am certainly not the physical brute some younger brothers are. As I always say, hit me and I will fold like a piece of paper.
So physical retribution would do me little good. Even if I became buff boy my brothers would simply gang up on me. Tattling to my mom only did so much good – eventually I would be the recipient of painful paybacks.
I knew from my earliest days that I was a pretty smart guy. I don’t know if it’s actual raw intelligence horsepower or the fact that I am insatiably curious about nearly everything.
My window to this world of learning was the set of World Book Encyclopedias we had in the family library. It wasn’t much of a library, mind you. Just a single multi-shelved bookcase next to the door to my brother’s room. No matter. It was a huge world to a little boy, one filled with new ideas and new information.
At times I felt like Johnny 5 in Short Circuit. “More input” should or could have been my mantra back then, though I am a much slower reader.
In my family, all reading is done in private. Yes, every male in the family got their reading done in the reading room, which had a fairly austere seat made of porcelain, where one could multi-task in complete privacy.
I always figured if I had to sit someplace for any length of time, at least I should learn something.
Back then, that meant books. Eventually I made my through most of the subjects I was interested in. After all, there was only so much 20 volumes of encyclopedias could offer me.
It also didn’t solve my problem. My brothers were still making mincemeat of me daily, not because they were smarter – that would be a total lie – but because they were older.
One day, I started to level the playing field. Next to the encyclopedias were two volumes of the dictionary: A-L, M-Z. I lugged the A-L into the bathroom for my morning, uhm, lesson.
As I thumbed through the pages, I found myself enraptured. So much so that my legs fell asleep, partly because of the shear weight of this new found friend, but also because I must have spent a half hour on the toidy.
This was a price worth of paying. For in these pages I found a way to level the playing field. I combed its pages for names I could call my brothers, words that had never played on their ears or sunk into their feeble minds before… words that would leave them simultaneously mystified at their meaning and stupefied at their intent – not knowing if it was a compliment or a verbal poke in the eye.
I was now the master! After regaining the feelings in my legs, I came out of the bathroom swinging full force with a verbal barrage that reached its target and decimated my opponents. I still remember my next oldest brother Brian standing there because I called him a troglodyte. I’m not even sure if he was smart enough to find it in the dictionary because he would have to know how to spell it.
From that moment on I knew the amazing power of words. It was so freeing. I didn’t need to bulk up my body in a gym to be superior, I could just bulk up my brain with new vocabulary. Those who crossed my path would be powerless.
So it came to pass. I was invincible in linguistic gymnastics, not only at home but in school. In fifth grade the winner of the daily spelling bee would get a candy bar. I had so much candy I could have become a dealer.
I guess it’s no surprise that my love of words turned into a job. They are so much fun to play with and a constant companion in my life. Even when all hell was breaking loose in my life, they would be there for me, expressing my sadness, feeling my pain, celebrating my rebirth, recognizing an achievement, showing my love and comforting me in my moments of grief.
Best of all, when I simply couldn’t find the right word, I could make one up that suited the moment. While some would argue this is cheating, I would respond that this is the beauty of our language. New words are being added to our lexicon all the time. In 2011 alone 150 new words were added, from bromance to crowdsourcing.
Me, I’m still waiting for “boobonucleosis” and “fatricide” (killing yourself with food) to make it into Mr. Webster’s book. For now, they remain in the Robbtionary, safe and sound, and more important beloved.
Out on the Treasure Coast, thinking it’s time to do some morning reading (in private),
– Robb