Recent messages and photos from and about our classmates.

Life in the Fifties (for your enjoyment)




- Look Who
Went to the
Reunion

- Who Couldn't
Attend 2018

- 60th Reunion
Prayer




- Who Couldn't
Attend 2013




- 2008
Invocation




- Who Couldn't
Attend
2003

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OUR LANGUAGE, IT IS A CHANGIN'

Kitty Kelly Johnson

Well, here we are, celebrating our 45th high school reunion. It doesn't seem possible. During the past 45 years, we have seen changes in our world too numerous to mention. Some have been good, and some have not. Certainly one of those changes has been in our language. I'm not talking about slang, or colloquialisms, but "euphemistic language," words that shade the truth. American English is now packed with euphemisms because Americans have trouble dealing with reality. In order to shield themselves from it, they use soft language. And somehow it gets worse with every generation.

For example, there's a condition in combat that occurs when a soldier is completely stressed out and is on the verge of nervous collapse. In WWI it was called "shell shock." Simple, honest, direct language. Two syllables. Shell shock. It almost sounds like the guns themselves.

Then a generation passed, and in WWII the same combat condition was called "battle fatigue." Four syllables now; takes a little longer to say. Doesn't seem to hurt as much. "Fatigue'" is a nicer word than "shock." Shell shock! Battle fatigue.

By the early 1950s, the Korean War had come along, and the very same condition was being called "operational exhaustion." The phrase was up to eight syllables now, and any last traces of humanity had been completely squeezed out of it. It was absolutely sterile: "operational exhaustion." Like something that might happen to your car.

Then, barely fifteen years later, we got into Vietnam, and, thanks to that war, the very same condition was referred to as "post-traumatic stress disorder." Still eight syllables, but we've added a hyphen, and the pain is completely buried under jargon: " post-traumatic stress disorder."

The language has gotten softer and softer. Consider these examples:

• toilet paper - bathroom tissue
• sneakers-running shoes
• the dump-the landfill
• house trailers-mobile homes
• used cars - previously owned vehicles
• riot-civil disorder
• drug addiction-substance abuse
• soap opera-daytime drama
• gambling joint-gaming resort

As children, when we got sick, we went to a doctor, who sent us to a hospital to be treated by other doctors. Now we go to a "primary care physician," who belongs to a "health maintenance organization," which sends us to a "wellness center" to be treated by "health-care delivery professionals."

And, of course, it's been obvious for some time that there are no old people in this country. They all died, and what we have are "senior citizens" (us). How's that for a lifeless, typically American phrase? There's no pulse in "senior citizen."

Nevertheless, "senior citizen" is a term I've come to accept. That's what old people are going to be called. But the phrase I will continue to resist is the description of an old person as being "eighty years young." Imagine how sad the fear of aging that is revealed in that phrase. To be unable even to use the word "old"; to have to use its antonym.

Now I understand the fear of aging is natural. No one wants to get old, so we kid ourselves. I started kidding myself when I reached my 50s. I'd look in the mirror and say, "well, I guess I'm getting…….'older!'" Older sounds better than old, doesn't it? Sounds like it might even last a little longer. Baloney! I'm getting old. And it's ok. But the baby boomers can't handle that, and remember, the boomers invented most of this soft language. So now they've come up with a new life phase: "pre-elderly." How relentlessly sad.

But it's ok, friends, because thanks to our fear of death, no one has to die; they can all just "pass away" or "expire," like a magazine subscription. The insurance company will refer to it as a "negative patient-care outcome." And if it's the result of malpractice, they'll say it was a "therapeutic misadventure."

To be honest, some of this soft language makes me want to vomit. Well, perhaps "vomit" is too strong a word. It makes me want to "engage in an involuntary, personal protein spill." So there!