Quicksand and (#294) Passing.
Passing is an interesting notion, Ray.
One can pass a ball--baseball, basketball, football (Canadian rules, of course). One can pass by someone or something, in which case they are a passerby, or, plural, passersby. One can pass gas, if one has an unfortunate reaction to dairy or legumes (but never in front of the Queen). One can even pass up an opportunity, deciding perhaps it was an opportunity one was not ready for just yet, or that perhaps despite its alleged promotion would actually lead to alienation and despair (such as a posting in Ottawa). One can pass a class, in the sense of receiving marks that are adequate but not exceptional. But the most curious notion of passing I've encountered is to pass for something which someone is not. It is this sense of the word with which I am most familiar. I have passed for many things, in the past. (The short list: heterosexual, a woman, a killer, a sailor, and a friend).
But there is one thing that I've never been able to pass as. I'm afraid I've never passed for an American. There is something about me, it seems, that strikes people as odd, or at least out of character, and results in what's known as a "tip off".
You've often told me it's my speech, Ray. Or more plainly, my vernacular.
Surely there are articulate Americans out there. I refuse to believe a country that spends so much on education could be a nation of barely literate and unintelligible individuals. This country of yours was founded on great speeches given by great men--and woman, of course. I myself never achieved much in the way of education, being home schooled by my grandmother until I attended the Academy.
No, there's a very simple reason why I don't pass as an American, Ray.
I don't wish to.
One can pass a ball--baseball, basketball, football (Canadian rules, of course). One can pass by someone or something, in which case they are a passerby, or, plural, passersby. One can pass gas, if one has an unfortunate reaction to dairy or legumes (but never in front of the Queen). One can even pass up an opportunity, deciding perhaps it was an opportunity one was not ready for just yet, or that perhaps despite its alleged promotion would actually lead to alienation and despair (such as a posting in Ottawa). One can pass a class, in the sense of receiving marks that are adequate but not exceptional. But the most curious notion of passing I've encountered is to pass for something which someone is not. It is this sense of the word with which I am most familiar. I have passed for many things, in the past. (The short list: heterosexual, a woman, a killer, a sailor, and a friend).
But there is one thing that I've never been able to pass as. I'm afraid I've never passed for an American. There is something about me, it seems, that strikes people as odd, or at least out of character, and results in what's known as a "tip off".
You've often told me it's my speech, Ray. Or more plainly, my vernacular.
Surely there are articulate Americans out there. I refuse to believe a country that spends so much on education could be a nation of barely literate and unintelligible individuals. This country of yours was founded on great speeches given by great men--and woman, of course. I myself never achieved much in the way of education, being home schooled by my grandmother until I attended the Academy.
No, there's a very simple reason why I don't pass as an American, Ray.
I don't wish to.