Before talking grammar, I want to talk cars, or two of my experiences with them. When many high-school boys had their heads under the hoods, I had my nose in a book. The first time I drove to school—I usually walked the two miles—was in the spring of my senior year (’58). After track practice, I went to my car and discovered that I had a flat. I just stood there, staring at it because I did not know what to do. Teammates came over and asked what the problem was; I told them, and they teased me: “Big Brains can’t change a tire.” Then they showed me where the tools were and how to use them. After they had finished, I thanked them. But I also teased them right back; I said that I may not have known how to change a tire, but I knew how to get them to change it!
I never did learn much about cars. In the early 80s, I owned a Volkswagen diesel station wagon. After a few months, it began performing sluggishly. I took it to the dealer and the mechanic who had always repaired my cars. He asked me what I thought the problem was. I said that it was probably a clogged carburetor. I had hardly gotten the words out than he said that was not the problem. I asked how he could know without even looking. “Well, Mr. Hays,” he said, “diesels don’t have carburetors.”
I am not going to push an analogy between cars and sentences very far, but the similarities mean that grammar is not something unusual, much less unique. There are different kinds of cars and parts, and they have different technical specifications. The same is true of sentences. Car X requires a specific kind of fuel pump; sentence Y needs a particular kind of conjunction. To run smoothly, both require the right parts and the right fit. In that sense, a grammar book is much like an owner’s manual. (And what is true of fixing cars is true of cooking a meal.)
Simply, grammar is the system of a language with rules for selecting and arranging the words of a language to match the writer’s or speaker’s meaning to the reader’s or listener’s interpretation. In learning a primary language, we learn and use intuitively the grammar of speaking. Up to a point, intuition can help us avoid or correct errors in, or polish, our prose—but only up to a point, for the grammar of speaking is not exactly the same as the grammar of writing. Expository or persuasive writing involves formal rules. To understand and apply them mean knowing and identifying the components of the system, knowing the terminology, and knowing how the components fit together. (Panic alert: the number of technical terms is not great, and most of them are self-explanatory or easily understood with a little of study. Still, I must admit, good grammar does not taste as good as that first morning cigarette, Marlboro or not, or a freshly brewed cup of coffee at a mountain campsite.)
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As I indicated in my previous blog, I use a bit-by-bit approach to slowly build on fundamentals: words to phrases to clauses to sentences. Before going grammatical, I want to go mathematical to indicate the importance of starting small and ending big to acquire subject-matter mastery. Many high-school students take algebra and encounter, among other difficulties, factoring. A cashier, amazed at the speed at which I computed change due me, mentioned having failed algebra twice before finally passing it. When I told her that her biggest difficulty had been factoring, she was amazed again. I gave the example of x2+15x+56, which, when factored, is (x+7)(x+8). Her problem was that, in elementary school, her teachers did not assign enough classwork and homework—drill, baby, drill—to become familiar with numbers. Mine did, so seeing 15 and 56—no sweat. My elementary school teachers made sure that my classmates and I had the basics so that we could build on them. To tell the truth, I enjoyed the drills and, in third grade, my daily races with David Clark to see who could be first to get them all right.
So my approach to grammar begins with the eight parts of speech: verb, noun, pronoun, adverb, adjective, preposition, conjunctions, and interjections, the latter not used in expository or persuasive writing. (I hope this list looks familiar.) I teach (and drill) their kinds, technical specifications, and uses. Only, verbs, nouns, and pronouns have such specifications—among them, tense, number, person—each with meaning. For purposes of teaching grammar or parsing—that is, analyzing—sentences, verbs come first because they are always explicit (as in commands, for a subject may be implied only).
My lesson for today is to show that knowing the components and terminology of grammar enables a teacher to teach students to know with confidence that they can avoid grammatical issues. My examples: sentence fragment and subject-verb agreement.
When it comes to sentences, teachers who do not know grammar take shortcuts. I remember from elementary school the definition of a sentence: it is the expression of a complete idea. This definition is a total flop. First, it defines a specific term “sentence” with a general term “complete,” which is virtually impossible to define. Second, it relies on intuition, which involves no instruction at all. Result: nothing taught, nothing learned; only the teachers’ right to say, “I covered it.”
Yet a sentence can by defined and taught in a manner enabling students to ascertain whether they have written a sentence or—perish the thought—a sentence fragment. Here goes with a simple procedure:
- Does the group of words have a verb? If no, no sentence. If yes, go to 2.
- Does it have a subject? If no, no sentence. If yes, go to 3.
- Does it begin with a relative pronoun? If yes, no sentence. If no, got to 4.
- Does it begin with a subordinating conjunction? If yes, no sentence. If no, voila!
Definition of a sentence: a group of words with a verb and a subject, and without an introductory relative pronoun or subordinating conjunction. If the group lacks a verb or a subject, or begins with a relative pronoun or a subordinating conjunction—you have a fragment, no matter how many words are involved.
Note two things about this procedure. One, it is explicit, so it is teachable/learnable. The teacher can illustrate the procedure on a wall chart or a handout. Two, it assumes prior knowledge of the fundamentals: the parts of speech and their terminology. Here, not just pronouns, but relative pronouns; not just conjunctions, but subordinating conjunctions. With this procedure, teachers and students can know with certainty whether a group of words is a (simple) sentence or not. (Compound, complex, and compound-complex sentences—different models of “cars”—follow a similar procedure.) So much for sentences and avoiding the mortal sin of a sentence fragment.
On to subject-verb agreement. Oh, there’s the bell. Next time, we shall address a few other grammar issues to further demonstrate that mastering and building on the fundamentals can help teachers and, with their help, students learn grammar, develop confidence, and proceed to use grammar to improve their writing.
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