I am a big fan of mnemonics;
systems used to aide in remembering how to do something.
One of my kid’s was asking me how to spell “broken” for she was using it to write about some story in her composition book.
She looked at me with that word on her tongue and it just made me awed at how just some measly years, some hours all added up to accumulate days into months can create a different taste of certain words.
She asked me how to spell “broken” and I was concerned.
I asked her what she was writing about, if she felt ok.
Did something happen.
She lights up and tells me this story she is composing about her dog becoming a superhero and not being able to open the door because the knob was broken from a zombie trying to get into the house.
She’s writing a story.
A silly, fictional (some may argue), typical seven year old child’s story.
While I’m sitting there, I feel every letter of that word enter through my ears.
It makes me think of countless pieces I have written about struggling to put my pieces back together except that I never had every piece.
And there’s my little girl asking me how to spell “broken” to write about a superhero dog fighting zombies.
I write the word down, explaining to her that we just went over long “o” sounds, so she should be able to spell “broke” and then just add an “n” at the end.
She examines the sticky note and says, “Oh look! The word “broken” has “ok” in the middle. How cool!”
“How cool.”
“How cool.”
“How cool.”
“How cool.”
She is seven and I am twenty-five and somewhere in between two-ish decades, the dictionary changed for me.
Break door knobs, not hearts.
Break door knobs, not glass.
Break door knobs, not promises.
Break door knobs…
not people.
I am a big fan of mnemonics;
systems used to aide in remembering how to do something.
