For this writer raised on good grammar, I seen enough

Eons ago, someone gave me a small yellow object to hang on my wall. It proclaimed, “I am silently correcting your grammar.”

It was the perfect gift. In fact, I still have it.

Grammar is a big deal to me, always has been. Blame the nuns. Some of them considered bad grammar as the eighth deadly sin .

Failure to exhibit proper grammar could result in a student spending recess standing at the blackboard, chalk in hand, repeatedly writing, “Margaret and I went to church yesterday.”

Never again would that student say “me and Margaret.” It was a lesson learned.

We diagrammed sentences, recited the parts of speech, and memorized each and every preposition, in alphabetical order.

After all that, I can’t be blamed if bad grammar sends shockwaves through my body. As my grandchildren would tel