Words' Worth

Memories are fickle when layered with years of living. When one is experiencing something initially, it may be so ordinary as to be nearly instantly absorbed and forgotten. What I do recall is punctuated with faces, voices, scenes both profound and indifferent, woven into an imperfect tapestry. Why certain snippets cling and whole sections of one's past are absent, I cannot explain.

The classroom is ordinary, the students most definitely are not. Our teacher, the remarkable Miss McCoy, is gifting us with skills we'll truly utilize forever. We're high school freshman, newly teen-aged, knowing much and yet so little. She's seen us before, in fact, every year of her teaching career. We are not so different from last year's contingent nor unlike the youngsters who will follow us.



The subject is English, taught with brilliance and devotion. Our textbook is average but the lessons it yields from our accomplished teacher help to transform our education.

One day we are studying sentences and an example includes a phrase about apple pie topped with a slice of cheese. As a Southern girl, such a combination is puzzling to me. We put ice cream on pie, not cheese. My innate loquaciousness leads me astray as I begin conversing with a nearby student. (Clearly I had not learned the sagacity of silence.) No personal governor stops me in time and I find myself in trouble with my favorite teacher. I believe my punishment was that I had to stay after school. In-school suspension had yet to be created to handle such indiscretions. I survived the fall from grace and filed away the transgression without repeating it.

More than fifty years later, I continue to utilize vocabulary words from Miss McCoy's class. Unequivocally, I honed my language skills in that environment. While reminiscing with two long-time friends in separate conversations a few years ago, each vividly described the lifetime impact of that impeccable list. We paused to express our sorrow that a terrible disease claimed the gifted Miss McCoy before we had the opportunity to sit in her Senior Advanced English class.

Whether reading or writing, I often think of the small woman whose impact on me has been so profound. I wonder, quite narcissistically, if she'd be pleased with my words, spoken or written. After all, so many of them actually belong to her.

Lately I've been musing about words I may overuse. The list includes: seems, appears, delicious, incredible, sweetheart, honey, hope, think, believe, trust, fantastic, fabulous, extraordinary, sublime, love, feel, awesome. Do I often rely too heavily on the trite rather than striving to be more expressive?

I collect new and unusual words, use them in sentences, drop them into conversations. When I was a working person, staff members in my office asked me to teach them a new word each day. What a fun way to expand one's vocabulary. How about penchant, proclivity, excoriate, synergy, angst or audacious?

Sitting here at my desk, I know Miss McCoy's mentoring remains influential. I write with Roget's Desk Thesaurus nearby. No less important is my copy of The Oxford Modern English Dictionary. I realize that the Internet provides access to all that is contained in these two books but I prefer touching the pages, perusing the contents. I believe she would approve of my Luddite approach.

At the end of my junior year, I was genuinely surprised to be chosen as the editor of the school newspaper for the following term. I am indebted to Miss Cecil McCoy for ably preparing me to accept that assignment. Her words remain, resonating powerfully.