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The Truth About Pigs And Planes By Wendy Sims Every once in a while we have causes to laugh at ourselves. This laughter is never heard by others because of its mere nature and secrecy to the private individual. (Does this make sense to you?) Well, it's like when someone tells you a funny story about something they find amusing and they can't stop laughing long enough to relate the details that sends them into hysterical fits to begin with. So you end up thinking to yourself: I guess you had to be there. Well, inside myself I am laughing so hard I nearly wet myself. This is how funny this tale is, and I have no one to blame but myself. So this is rather like confessional practice or strategy. (I'm practicing how to confess and apologize for my blunder. I have to take you on a small journey first. Back to my earliest memories of what has led up to this eventful humiliation that so far, I am the only one privy to. When I was about thirteen years old I met this girl who very quickly became my best friend, Mary. Now I'm going to try to make a long story short, but please have patience with me if I become too long winded. Now Mary had lived in the west for some years when we met. Even though she had been a resident in the great states of Utah and Colorado she still spoke as though she had definitely lived in the Southern region recently. Now whether she had or not, I'm not certain. (Did I mention that we are best friends?) Well of course we are. Whether she had or not is really neither here nor there. Where was I... Mary's mother grew up in Baton Rouge, Louisiana which of course is where she learned how to speak. And having passed what she learned onto her own children, it was only natural that Mary picked up some of the Southern ways of speech. When Mary and I entered high school we soon discovered where each others' talents lay. Mary's talent was with numbers and mine was with English. To this very day manipulating numbers has never been a favorite chore with me. No matter how hard I studied math, the rules and laws eluded me. The best grade I could expect was a "C". Now any idiot knows that the letter "C" is the third letter in the alphabet which put me in my area of expertise (or what I thought of as my area of expertise.) English. And when letters are put side by side they create words. And words create sentences, paragraphs, chapters, books, etc., until you have a language. Since English is the only language I speak fluently I figured that I wasn't doing too bad in math with my "C". (Of course this makes sense to me and if you can't see it that way may I suggest you see an optomotrist. An early detection of visual problems is best met with once it is discovered.) Now where was I?....Oh yes... One day Mary and I were sitting on her bedroom floor playing cards and talking as young teenage girls will often do. Even though I can no longer recall the exact topic of conversation, I do remember that it all started with an apricot. Or rather how Mary pronounced that particular fruit. She pronounced the "a" in apricot like the "a" in apple. Naturally I cringed. I had always been taught that the "a" in apricot was pronounced like the "a" in apron. So we get into this discussion about proper pronunciation. She wouldn't agree with me, and I wouldn't agree with her, so I suggested getting out the dictionary to prove or disprove who is correct. As it turned out, I was and I never cease to let her forget it. Oh now, I'm not vicious about it but I admit that I tend to gloat now and then. I try to always speak correctly. So when I come across a word I'm not sure how to pronounce, or the definition, I look it up so I know how to say it correctly and hence keep from making a fool out of myself. (More fool I). I never said I was perfect, but I do try to be perfect when dealing with speech. My own sister has trouble with pronouncing big words and I try to help her when she is having difficulties. Even my own father has trouble every now and again. Why, just the other day he was talking about these muscle men you see on television and how some of them take steroids. Only my father pronounced is as "styroids". I tried not to laugh and even my sister was laughing with me. After awhile I just couldn't stand it anymore and I told him that it was "stair-roids" not "styroids". He just blew it off as if I were an impertinent little brat and forgot the whole episode. So there you have it, a brief history on how fanatical I am about proper pronunciation. (Where it really began I have no idea.) I just know that I cannot bear to listen to people butcher the English language with their tongues. I dislike how it makes me sound when I correct others, not to mention how much others hate for me to correct them. Call me compulsive! But the point of this whole story is about to be revealed. For the past couple of months, some pilots where I work have been mispronouncing the word "route". They keep saying it as in "rootbeer" and of course I cringe every time I hear it. I even say to them: "Pigs 'root', planes are 'routed'". Almost every day for two months they say "root" and I go ballistic. Even my friend and co-workers are amused when I make an issue over the matter, which like I said, is every time I hear it. And I'm sure they deliberately keep saying it just to watch me cringe. So the other day I'm sitting at home watching television, (The Torklesons, to be exact) and the mother on the show says a word that I've heard many times before. As far as I know she didn't mispronounce it, I just wasn't sure of the definition. So I pulled out my trusty dictionary to look the word up and learn its definition. The word was "serendipity". The ironic part will soon become apparent. Serendipity (as the dictionary defines) is the faculty of making valuable discoveries by accident. I found myself liking this word and its definition simply because of the sound of the word when it is spoken. I even liked the definition too. I could actually visualize myself writing stories in the future, as I enjoy writing stories, and using this word. I thought to myself, "This is a good word." I liked how it sounded and I really felt good about learning a new word that day. I was even trying to come up with ways to use it in a sentence, like English teachers used to make you do in class. Remember? The sentence is still eluding me at the moment but its definition is clear as a bell pealing out on Easter morning. It is so strange that this word "serendipity" actually makes me feel happy. Like when you hear your favorite song and it makes you happy. Maybe it is just the melody or the tempo of the music, but for some reason you cannot fathom, you smile and feel like getting up and dancing every time you hear it. No matter where you are, or even what kind of mood you're in. This song gives you the warm fuzzies. Well, this word, "serendipity" had the same effect on me. I just liked it. So there I was, sitting there feeling pretty good, and feeling pretty proud of myself with my new "discovery" when I decided to look up another word while I had the old dictionary handy. (For the proper pronunciation of course). Just so I can go back to work and tell these pilots and my co-workers for certain that they are mispronouncing the word "route", and by having proof to back it up. "Serendipity"...that is all I have to say. That and...ahem, I was wrong. R-O-U-T-E is pronounced as in 'root' versus how I was saying it, as in 'round'. I guess my ballistic days about pigs is over. It really is true that you learn something new every day. Now all I have to do is learn how to admit this publicly. At work. That's not so bad. What's bad is all the ribbing and hazing I will have to submit myself to. I can assure you that it will be unbearable. Those same people will be like a dog with the last bone on earth. They will chew me up and spit me out in no time. They won't even let this minor indiscretion (oh hell, lets call a spade a spade), this stupidity of mine go easily. On the other hand, I could just keep this "discovery" to myself and forego all the harassment that I'm due. But eventually everything will snowball and folks will just want to know why I no longer talk about pigs every time I hear them say something about 'rootings'. It could take on the domino theory and just keep going which I am afraid will happen anyway. But then again, I could just let these same people, who would otherwise heap mountains of jokes at my feet, find out for themselves the truth about pigs and planes. So to all of you pilots out there who have been 'rooting' and have been 'rooted' across the globe, hither and yon, I apologize. May you "root" as long as it makes you happy and may you be happy as long as you 'root.
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