In which I renounce my role as grammar cop, and ask your forgiveness for being such a snob.

Many of you know that I’ve long patrolled the world as a self-appointed Grammar Cop.

Dudes, you know me. I’ll whip out a Sharpie to correct a misused homonym on a poster. I’ll share “funny” “misuse of quotation marks” photos on Facebook. I try not to correct people’s grammar or pronunciation when they’re speaking, but even if I keep my mouth shut? I’m totally silently judging you.

My thinking has gone something like this:

1. The English language has definitive, time-honored, codified, teachable grammatical rules, which everyone can learn, and everyone should follow.

2. Utilizing these rules leads to clear, correct communication.

3. I mean, really. What’s so hard about correct spelling and grammar? If you can’t get it right, you’re not trying hard enough.

4. And honestly? I’m going to judge you for it.

Until… I just need one word to finish that sentence, really:

Until Sam.

If you’ve been around me in real life or the interwebs, you know my son, Sam. And how much I love him. And how funny, smart, insightful, thoughtful, and wise he is.

He is also dyslexic. He has fairly profound dyslexia and other learning differences. (He approves of me sharing this. In his words, “It’s just how my brain works. Namasté, suckas.”)

Maybe I should back up a little bit. Beep, beep, beep.

Harken back to my expectations of parenthood.

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