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Edited on Thu Nov-30-06 03:28 AM by RoyGBiv
Okay, so I'm pissed off ... like beyond pissed off and into near-postal, the kind of angry that inspires a person to take a perfectly good, long friendship and trash it in a second with a few, carefully chosen harsh words. And I need someone to talk me down, validate me or not, tell me why I should just not go off, or maybe just listen to me vent.
And before I start, thank you DU for being here and for those of you in this forum who have the stomach to read personal crap like this.
I have a daughter who'll turn 17 in about a week. I love her very much and am so proud of her for reasons too innumerable to mention that sometimes I feel like I'll burst. She doesn't live with me. Until she was about 12, we didn't have much of a relationship, a fact that was almost totally my fault, but not entirely because her mother didn't really want us to have much of relationship. (We always had a relationship, but it was not the father/daughter type of relationships of song and story until that point.) Her mother and I are very different people with different ideas on what is important. When explaining it to strangers I've always described it as her being a math person and me being an English person. What that means, boiled down, is that her mother is into the logical, the so-called eternal truths, and the concrete. I'm into the ephemeral and artistic and the chaotic. In truth we make good friends, but made horrible partners. We were simply lucky that our short-lived marriage resulted in a daughter so wonderful and so open to accepting both of us for what we were and incorporating into her own personality those parts of us she found most attractive. (She's a budding mathematician (35 on the ACT, 3 points from perfect on the SAT in that category ... and yes I'm bragging, but she deserves it after all the hard work she's put into those results) who could write novels or sculpt with the best of the ancient classic artists.) About the time she was twelve, she and I really started to understand each other, really started to talk and to bond on a level above the generic father-daughter thing, and that's when her personality really started to take on its dual aspect. It's served her well. In a few months, she'll graduate a year early, have a full ride to a major university with her choice of different kinds of scholarships, and is being recruited by schools like Georgetown ... I am in awe of her. Neither her mother nor I were ever on her level.
Our relationship has been based in part on an intellectual connection. I still remember the moment and could write at length about it, but I'll summarize by saying it began in a book store where she pondered over what books she might want to read while I suggested another that wasn't even in her peripheral vision at the time. She loved what she read and became somewhat obsessed with the author. From then on, I have been her source of suggestions for literature. She's read more authors, following their works from the beginning of their careers to the end, than any single person I know, which includes a lot of professional literary people. She's read more than I have, actually. I suggested to her she read a few books by Vonnegut I like and have read, and she responded by reading everything the man has ever written, both books and essays and articles ... everything she could find anywhere.
All of that is background.
At the moment my daughter is applying for all sorts of special educational opportunities, many of which require an argumentative essay on varied subjects as a part of the application process. She's sought my help on all these. I critique her work in an honest way, offering suggestions of how to make it better, pointing out grammar mistakes, etc. I don't write the things for her. I act as an editor. This experience has been both a result of and a part of our continued bonding. It's what we do. It's what I have with her since she has not, since she was 2, lived in my home.
I have a very close friend whom I've known since I was 15. (I'm now 37.) We are as close as brothers, and were I of a different sexual orientation, he would be the person I would most want to consider my lifelong partner. We are, truly, soul mates. I love him in more ways than I can express in words. This friend of whom I speak is gay, and having decided long ago he would not have children himself or adopt -- not wanting to suffer the pain of trying in the modern world -- he in essence adopted my daughter. He's her "uncle," or using his and her terminology, her fairy godmother.
I love all this about their relationship. I want them to be close. I want him to offer her the wisdom and experience I know he can offer, much of which she might not accept fully from me for the simple reason I am a parental figure. But, today, just today, he crossed a line ... in some people's minds probably a very trivial line ... that has me wavering on how to react. At one moment I am so angry I want to call him and tell him never to speak to my daughter again. At another moment I want to thank him for introducing her to so forcefully the concept of chaos even among that which many consider ordered to the point of irrationality.
What happened was this:
My daughter sent me an essay to critique. Due to the holidays she was only able to send it to me less than 24 hours before she had to submit it, and it was an important essay, one that will help determine her place the halls of academia once she gets there. I offered my advice, some of which I, as a writer of sorts, would not and do not follow myself due to my own disagreement with the prescriptive grammarian mindset. But, I understood her audience, and I knew what they both expected and wanted, and I knew how she could improve her piece to aid her in her quest. On that basis was my advice offered.
Not intentionally meaning to do so, my daughter forwarded this critique to my friend, the reason being the original e-mail had also contained some information about a summer program she would be attending that would place her near where he lives. That is what she was communicating to him, and that is what she wanted him to notice because she'd like to visit him while there and have him act his role as her fairy godmother, showing her a good time, exposing her to experiences that just plain seem weird with someone you can call "father." But that's not what my friend chose as the focus of his reply, which he CC:ed to me. In that reply he challenged my knowledge of grammar.
The details are irrelevant. The truth of the matter is that he was both right and wrong as a linguist would see the issue. Prescriptive grammar is one thing. The "living language" concept is another. As noted, my friend is the ally of chaos, and so am I, but in different ways. He sees chaos as an end unto itself. While I'm certainly not the type who has 7 suits, one for each day of the week, all of the same color, I do understand the difference between rules and guidelines and when either, respectively, should be followed. I appreciate chaos, but I also appreciate and acknowledge circumstances in which invoking a chaotic philosophy is not appropriate.
In short, he undermined the advice I gave my daughter and in so doing drew her in to what up to this moment had been a running, intellectually stimulating, if somewhat silly, argument between friends on various aspects of what it means to speak and write properly. He made her question my knowledge, made her question the advice she was given, made her look at her father as something less than an authority on the subject for which she had always sought his advice. Put another way, he, without malicious intent, attacked the one thing, the one unique thing I have with my daughter that she does not have and never could have had with any other familial relationship. He made me feel stupid and unworthy.
It doesn't help my state of mind to know he was wrong, utterly wrong, on the specific issue in a prescriptive context. I could cite, chapter and verse, details from every grammar manual considered standard today, and while they might not agree on small details, all would note that the advice I gave, while not grounded in a good example (I wrote the critique from work in haste due to the close deadline and did not thoroughly think through my example), was nonetheless fundamentally sound in principle. But that's really not the point. It's not about me or him or anyone being correct. It is, for me, about the way he approached it and how it has made me feel as a result, about he undermined the trust (yes trust, the trust my daughter had in me to give her proper advice as she makes these important decisions) between my daughter and me.
What's yet again even worse is I know, firmly, that he has no clue what he just did, how he made me feel, how he may have made her question who she trusts. That infuriates me more than anything, the fact he opened his virtual mouth without having such considerations.
Finally ... I know this is long. I know few will read it through to the end. I know it's nothing but personal whining that really has little place on a public discussion forum. If you made it this far I both salute you and pity you for enduring me. I had to let out my frustration somewhere, and I felt it was better to do so here than to fire off the e-mail (or worse yet, wake his ass up in the middle of the night and unleash) I have wanted to send (and half-composed).
If those of you who braved this opus have any thoughts, I'd me most thankful to hear them. If not, thanks for indulging me.
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