Second grade.  Mrs. Mim's class.  It was a time of innocence and playfulness.  We were kids who knew nothing of the gas shortage or the real world.  The nation had not yet tasted inflation, political correctness hadn't been invented and computers were the size of an office building.  It was 1978; I was seven years old, and the friendships I forged then would last forever. 

Little did I know.

I've written about how our nation's spelling acuities have decreased since the advent of the internet.  As a people, we spell bad.  Real bad.  But something that often escapes us is how bad our grammar is.

Now granted, I have a Computer Science degree, not an English degree.  So in many instances, I'm as guilty as the rest of you.  But that is no excuse.  Bad grammar is bad grammar.

The world is an amazing place.  Doctors and scientists find cures for diseases every day.  We communicate through tiny waves sent to space in spectrums that we can neither see nor hear without some pretty amazing technology to translate.  We can travel from one side of the world to another in a few hours.  And anyone with a few bucks can buy fake dog poo on ebay.

Yes.  I said that.

The other night, in a fit of boredom, I sat at my computer and thought to myself, "Think something random."

In days long gone, the dinner table served as a gathering place for families.  It was the social gathering site where the day was recounted over a hot cooked meal, and the family coalesced into a single unit after being apart for the day.
   
Life updates were exchanged over clinking silverware and emptying plates.  What happened at work?  How'd you do on that math test?  You know what the price of milk was going for at the supermarket?
   
Wants and needs, thoughts and wishes, hopes and dreams.  The dinner table provided the vehicle for any topic to casually slide into the forefront.     It was where possibilities were discussed, decisions were made, and lives altered.