Do we need grammar police?
People who correct others’ English grammar and usage mistakes … are they grammar police? I guess it depends on how they do it.
As with any other embarrassing attribute (bad table manners, crude language, body odor), bad grammar is least likely to be important to those who have it. And there is almost no polite way to point it out.
In most cases, if you call attention to a mistake, someone feels attacked. The culprit is defensive, thinks you’re pedantic (or worse), and discounts your criticism. Who cares? It’s not important. You know what I meant. Unless they ask for correction, it’s probably better to let it go.
Criticism stings, even (or especially), for people who pride themselves on their careful use of English. They’re the ones who do care, and they don’t expect to be corrected.
So how important is it to use precise, correct language? If your circle of acquaintances is very small and you have few interactions with other people, maybe not at all. But if you travel, work in a large company, deal with the public, or write for publication, your audience is bound to include non-native English speakers. They often learn English the way it is supposed to be, not the way we use it when we’re being lazy. And we all get lazy. Yes, all of us.
Here are two sentences, both from published articles. The writers leave it to you to figure out what they mean. A diligent English student, interpreting these by the book, would be confused:
1. These casseroles are just as good now as they were as a kid.
The casseroles used to be children, and now they are adults?
2. By downloading this white paper the sponsor may contact you.
When the sponsor downloads the white paper, he has permission to contact me?
Even admitted grammar police can experience a “comeuppance.” Last summer in Indonesia, I met a visiting family with two small sons. The mother is German. The father, who is French, works for an Italian company. Son Victor (age 7) speaks German, French, English, and a little Italian.
A local family was trying to train their dog, Dogé, not to jump up on people. When he planted his muddy paws on the knees of my beige slacks, I said, “Dogé! You can’t jump on people!”
Seven-year-old Victor quietly observed, in his third—yes third—language:
“Really, he can. We just don’t want him to do it.”
Ouch.
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