AIN’TS MAKE ANGELS CRY



There are many words afloat that defy polite grammar. Those words in particular convey a point that politeness cannot.

One such word is *Ain’t.*

(Out of reverence, I shall capitalize *Ain’t* here-in.)

The beauty of Ain’t is that it’s all-purpose. It’s usually paired with an incredulous look on the speaker’s face, begins with “Oh!” and ends with exclamation—such as, “Oh, no, I ain’t.”

In writing, Ain’t has an element of humor that other contractions were born without. When writing a humor piece for publication, it’s important to ask editors to leave your ne-er-do-well words and ill-fitting punctuation in place. Know ye that a zealous copy editor can *flatten* a humor piece by correcting those elements.

Ain’t is the only word, that upon being corrected, makes me angry. Most of my grammar-correcting compatriots are decent people. I try to nod and thank them. But they know not to assault my Ain’ts. Generally, Ain’t-tamperers correct the Ain’ts of others as a sad and futile attempt at righteousness—as if Ain’ts make angels cry.

My first Ain’t corrector was my poor grandmother, who corrected the Ain’ts and everything else in a letter I wrote to her. My letter came back bloody with Grannie’s red ink. Religious leaders have since counseled me to forgive her. But, I reply, “I c’ain’t!”—Some scars never heal!

The other sin that alarmed Grannie was the use of *got.* As a copy editor for written reports, I found myself correcting the *gots* of others. I would advise, “blah, blah, blah—not, ‘I got there, but rather, ‘I arrived at.’” The hatred on their faces intensified as I blathered on. Soon my listeners began baring their razor-sharp little teeth, and (for reasons of personal safety), I left them to their gots. And even empathized with them when they combined two of Grannie’s bitter pills —*Ain’t got.*

Once, Grannie and I attended a rummage sale in the basement of SAin’t Anthony’s Catholic church. She exclaimed, “Is this not pure joy?” I winked at her and said, “Yes, Grannie—Ain’t we Got fun!”





Concrete Zipper may use this essay in any way he would like.

Kathleen