a persistent fantasy
One of my fantasies is that I have endowed the younger generation with an innate sense of what was once called Good English. I fondly imagine that when they write, their sentences have verbs; that these verbs agree, kindly and harmoniously, with their subjects; that they never say "clearly" more than once a month, irony excepted; that they are not fooled by homonyms; that the wayward apostrophe holds no challenge for them... I cherish the illusion that though I have no riches to leave them, their clear and concise grasp of the Language of Repeated Conquests and Immigrant Dreams, once known as the Language of Shakespeare but I like my term better, is a heritage for which they and the generations yet to come will thank me.
On the other hand maybe they'll just let iPad do the thinking. The possessive its will vanish from their writing, as it appears to be fading from mine, thanks to the obsessive-compulsive workings of the Demon Autocorrect. There may be hope, though, because I still care, even though there are days when the DA wins. I shall go down with sword in hand, if not pen..