I said, “It’s ain’t. And it’s not a word. I don’t like that word.” He said, “I do.” I said, “No, you don’t. It’s not a real word.”

Herein lies the problem. I used to work for a company that hired, shortly after I left, for the highest state office the next-in-command, a very acceptable candidate for the job. She is a very professionally dressed, well-coifed woman. She is smart and remarkable, but the management had issues. Her Southern accent played more toward the “country” side and she made liberal use of the word “ain’t.”

I suppose it grew on me enough to accept it as being a part of her, like her precision bob-cut or the way her Southern slur left a mark on the carpet like a slug slowly dragging toward the door. She was powerful and soft in the same sentence, so I accepted the “ain’ts” like they were part of her DNA. And maybe they were. As charming as she was – or is – I didn’t want my son to adopt such language, and so I halted it, then and there.

Still, I have to think it is charming to know that my son’s first encounter with the word “ain’t” was at the age of 5 ½. Considering where I live, that’s pretty freaking amazing.

Photo, JWJourney

Post from: Blisstree

I Ain’t Using That Word