You're gonna want to tell your friends about this one

When I was in elementary school, in the late 70’s, schools were not worried about unimportant things, like standardized testing, asbestos, or traumatizing the students. Believe me, we were regularly traumatized, especially in second grade, when my beloved teacher, Mrs. Hammond, suddenly stopped coming to school about a third of the way into the year. We had different substitutes for a while, but then the year was finished out by Mrs. Collins, who was fabulous, but nobody ever told us what happened to Mrs. Hammond. Seriously. Not the school, not our parents….we weren’t told a thing. Today, I am certain there would be a whole packet created and distributed by the school system: “How To Discuss Mrs. Hammond’s Absence With Your Child.” Today, the school would make counselors available and have lots of talks about feelings. Back then, nothing. Mrs. Hammond was gone, and we just had to deal with it. On a happier note, she came back the next year as the librarian and seemed fine, so I guess my theory about her going and living with the Boxcar Children (my favorite childhood book) was incorrect.

Having a host of substitute teachers and the sudden, unexpected loss of my beloved Mrs. Hammond made my second-grade education somewhat spotty. But I do remember one thing about second grade: that was the year we learned about contractions.

Contractions are simple, really. Simple enough for a TRAUMATIZED SECOND GRADER. They involve combining two words with an apostrophe. One of the simpler contractions is the word “you’re.” “You’re” is a simple contraction, because it involves one simple substitution. Take out the “a” and put in an apostrophe. I totally aced the second grade “you’re” test. And “you’re” is totally easy to remember, because you would use it any time you want a short way to say “you are”.

Since we have established that 1) “you’re” is one of the easiest contractions to totally master, knowledge-wise and, 2) it is not beyond the intellectual capabilities of a second-grader, I thoroughly fail to understand why it is so confused by FULLY GROWN ADULTS who have, at least in theory ALREADY PASSED SECOND GRADE. I’m sorry that I keep screaming, but I am required to punch a puppy directly in the face every time someone writes, “Your welcome,” or “Your going with me.” This is not difficult! You ask yourself (not you’reself) one basic question: could I substitute, “you are” or not? If the answer is “no,” then “your” is a safe bet. If the answer is “yes,” then you go with “you’re.” No exceptions, no deviations.

My son has attempted to inform me that I am a little tightly wound re: all matters concerning the use of language, and that the your/you’re distinction is merely an adorable grammatical quirk that no longer matters. I protest, sir. Your and you’re are two completely different words. Completely different meanings. It is like saying that, “Shall I kiss you?” and “Shall I kill you?” mean essentially the same thing, unless you’re going to be a stickler about whether you use an “s” or an “l”. To say that making a distinction between your and you’re is trivial is to surrender to the forces of stupidity, and I for one am not ever (or n’ever, as we say in contraction world) going to quit that fight.

We are a smart nation. We can figure out how to split the atom and program our DVRs and navigate 6-lane freeways and update our Facebook statuses from our phones. It is very little to ask that we master this one, little, easy contraction. So, for the love of God, people, sit down with your families and loved ones tonight and talk about this. Correct your friends. Tell your neighbors. Do it for that scared, traumatized little second grade girl. Do it for Mrs. Hammond.