I work in sentences.
I earn a living by speaking and writing. Whether speaking to thousands of people in a theater, a dozen in a workshop, or 25 children in a classroom, I earn my keep by communicating effectively.
As a result, I love sentences. When I find a good one, I hold onto it and use it often.
An excellent sentence is like a finely crafted weapon, always by my side, ready to cut away at the nonsense of the world.
Here’s a favorite:
When I criticize something that my school district might be doing — especially after I’ve already criticized it a dozen times or more — and I’m told that “Nothing can be done,” or “This is the direction we’ve decided is best,” or “You’ve already made your thoughts clear,” I say:
“As a public servant responsible for the safety and wellbeing of children, I am morally, ethically, and professionally required to speak up when I think we are failing to do right or best by our students, so I must and will continue to speak up until a change is made or I run out of breath.”
It’s a good sentence. Asserting my moral, ethical, and professional responsibilities requires my opposition to either tell me that I have no moral, ethical, or professional requirement as a teacher — which would be stupid and disastrous — or grudgingly accept my criticism again and again and again.
It works every time. Instead of complaining about my constant repetition, my opposition is almost always silenced.
Admittedly, I’ve sometimes needed a little more.
An administrator once told me, “I’ve heard this before from you, and I know how you feel. But why must you harp on it again and again?”
My response went something like this:
In 1986, one scientist, Allan McDonald, warned NASA that launching the space shuttle in cold temperatures could cause an explosion. He repeated this warning again and again but eventually gave up and allowed the launch to proceed despite his moral, ethical, and professional responsibilities.
Then the shuttle exploded, and people died.
Maybe NASA would’ve ignored that scientist even if he continued protesting.
I don’t know.
But I will never put myself in the position of wondering if I could have made a difference had I continued to lodge my criticism, as that scientist continues to wonder today.
That wasn’t one sentence, but it was a damn good response.
I know so because the administrator stopped complaining after that.
A sentence is a small thing—a few words adorned with a punctuation mark.
An anecdote or example is slightly larger — a collection of sentences — but it’s also pretty small in the grand scheme of things.
But when you find the right, they can be wielded like weapons and sometimes be impossible to defend against.
Whether I’m engaged in debate or verbal confrontation, trying to explain a concept to a fifth grader or a management team, or trying to convince my children or a CEO that I’m right, I’m constantly, relentlessly looking for the best sentence or sentences to do so.
When you find the right collection of words to explain an idea, deflect criticism, push back on stupidity, or make a point, hold onto them.
Their value can be enormous.
