Sentences on strike

As an expert in communication, I find nothing more frustrating than to be hopelessly, inexplicably, disastrously misunderstood. I work hard at getting the words right, whether I'm writing or speaking, in class or in the hall, in public or private. I agonize over the wording of e-mail messages, assignment sheets, even handouts explaining the finer points of MLA style. In classes I watch my students' faces for signs of comprehension, and when I don't see any, I try to express myself in a different way. In one-on-one conferences I try to reach students where they are and take them to where they need to be. I am clear; I am focused; I communicate.

But then when things fall apart they fall apart badly and I sit here scratching my head wondering what went wrong, how the words went awry. Today this happened twice--twice!--and both times I wanted to just hit the "rewind" button and start over. But alas, the words won't come back and the sentences won't stand still and explain themselves, and I am left to pick up a pile of scattered pieces that all the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't manage if I tripled their salary.

Maybe I need to seek some advice from Humpty Dumpty in Alice's Adventures in Wonderland:

"When I use a word," Humpty Dumpty said in a rather a scornful tone, "it means just what I choose it to mean--neither more nor less."

"The question is," said Alice, "whether you can make words mean different things."

"The question is," said Humpty Dumpty, "which is to be master--that's all."

Alice was too much puzzled to say anything, so after a minute Humpty Dumpty began again. "They've a temper, some of them--particularly verbs, they're the proudest--adjectives you can do anything with, but not verbs--however, I can manage the whole lot! Impenetrability! That's what I say!"

"Would you tell me, please," said Alice, "what that means?"

"Now you talk like a reasonable child," said Humpty Dumpty, looking very much pleased. "I meant by 'impenetrability' that we've had enough of that subject, and it would be just as well if you'd mention what you meant to do next, as I suppose you don't intend to stop here all the rest of your life."

"That's a great deal to make one word mean," Alice said in a thoughtful tone.

"When I make a word do a lot of work like that," said Humpty Dumpty, "I always pay it extra."

"Oh!" said Alice. She was too much puzzled to make any other remark.

"Ah, you should see 'em come round me of a Saturday night," Humpty Dumpty went on, wagging his head gravely from side to side: "for to get their wages, you know."

(Alice didn't venture to ask what he paid them with; and so you see I can't tell you.)

And there's the problem: if I don't know how to pay the words I employ, how can I make them do my bidding? And if mere words won't submit to my mastery, why should my students? From now on I intend to stand before my classes and mumble incomprehensibly, and if I fail to see signs of comprehension, I'll resort to semaphore.