When my older son was only six years old,
He asked for a simple sentence.
“Use the word mail in a sentence,” he said to me,
And I smiled, thinking, how hard could that be?
As a caring mom, I aimed not to fail,
So, I quickly composed one using the word mail.
After pondering briefly, I said with pride,
“Write this: I sent a mail to my friend,” I replied.
But instead of thanks or a joyful grin,
He looked at me sternly and folded his chin.
“Mom,” he said, “my teacher didn’t say
To write a lie so that’s not okay.”
Oh, what a blow! I paused in shock,
Then searched my mind around the clock.
An inner voice whispered, “Don’t you bother,
He’s ungrateful — leave it, mother.”
But I ignored that voice as love wouldn’t allow.
I had to help him, somehow, somehow.
So, I offered again, with motherly grace,
“Try this: My mother gets mails from the postman’s place.”
Yet once again, he shook his head,
“Mail should not be pluralized” he said!
Well, he probably thought I was an English major queen,
Where sentence construction was a part of my daily routine.
From the way he frowned that day,
It seemed I had to get it right, comes what may.
Later, when I reflected, I had to agree,
That if I didn’t get it right my son wouldn’t let me be.
