Remember this book? I used to say that if I were being sent into exile and could take just one book, this would be the one.
You probably own a similar one. This dictionary was a 1991 replacement for the old one that fell apart. As evidenced by its shabby condition the new one had hard use for more than fifteen years. Then came the Internet and easy access to on-line dictionaries. Webster's sat on the shelf, gathering dust.
A couple of nights ago, eating dinner alone, I was thinking about the word "pedagogy" and wondering what it means precisely and how it relates to similar words such as "pedant." Our dining room is also our main library. I sat facing the bookcase that holds reference books and there was my old Webster's. I could have gotten up to retrieve my iPad, but instead reached for the dictionary.
Ah, the familiar heft, the thin, strong paper, the thumb notches. In a rush I felt again the old thrill of running my eye down the page looking for the word, being distracted by other words along the way, pausing to read their definitions. The noun "pebble," for example: "a small usu. rounded stone esp. when worn by the action of water."
I moved on to "ped-" where I was reminded that prefix means "child," from Greek. And there, running down the page in succession was the panoply of words having the "ped-" prefix. I went on to pedagogy, "the art, science, or profession of teaching," and to pedant, "one who parades his learning." Even pediatrician.
Similar, but different is the Latin "ped-," which means foot, giving us pedestrian and pedometer, but that's another story.
Just as I was ready to close the book another word caught my eye: pederast. The evening news had another story about the Penn State scandal and we were reminded again of the monstrous Jerry Sandusky. Here was the precise word to describe him. Pederast: "one that practices anal intercourse esp. with a boy."
What a rich experience this was compared to finding the definition of pedagogy on line. No more will I neglect this battered old book that has expanded my vocabulary and entertained me through the years.
If, like me, you are a logophile, I hope you will dust off your dictionary and experience again the riches it contains.
You probably own a similar one. This dictionary was a 1991 replacement for the old one that fell apart. As evidenced by its shabby condition the new one had hard use for more than fifteen years. Then came the Internet and easy access to on-line dictionaries. Webster's sat on the shelf, gathering dust.
A couple of nights ago, eating dinner alone, I was thinking about the word "pedagogy" and wondering what it means precisely and how it relates to similar words such as "pedant." Our dining room is also our main library. I sat facing the bookcase that holds reference books and there was my old Webster's. I could have gotten up to retrieve my iPad, but instead reached for the dictionary.
Ah, the familiar heft, the thin, strong paper, the thumb notches. In a rush I felt again the old thrill of running my eye down the page looking for the word, being distracted by other words along the way, pausing to read their definitions. The noun "pebble," for example: "a small usu. rounded stone esp. when worn by the action of water."
I moved on to "ped-" where I was reminded that prefix means "child," from Greek. And there, running down the page in succession was the panoply of words having the "ped-" prefix. I went on to pedagogy, "the art, science, or profession of teaching," and to pedant, "one who parades his learning." Even pediatrician.
Similar, but different is the Latin "ped-," which means foot, giving us pedestrian and pedometer, but that's another story.
Just as I was ready to close the book another word caught my eye: pederast. The evening news had another story about the Penn State scandal and we were reminded again of the monstrous Jerry Sandusky. Here was the precise word to describe him. Pederast: "one that practices anal intercourse esp. with a boy."
What a rich experience this was compared to finding the definition of pedagogy on line. No more will I neglect this battered old book that has expanded my vocabulary and entertained me through the years.
If, like me, you are a logophile, I hope you will dust off your dictionary and experience again the riches it contains.
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