Crack!

From my vantage point behind first base and about half way up in the stands, I saw the ball land just inside the right field foul line and I knew it was going to be a triple.  The crowd roared and we were all on our feet as our lead-off batter in the bottom of the first inning got things going with that line drive.  We sat back down as the second batter stepped up to the plate.

Image via Wikipedia

“Dogs, get your dogs here!  Hot dogs!  Hot dogs!  Hot dogs!” a vendor yelled behind me in an unmistakable voice that I recognized instantly.

I turned around.  It was Aunt Ruth!

“Hot dogs,” she continued.  “Straight from the cow or pig or factory or whatever, get your fresh hot dogs.  Hot dogs!  Hot … why it’s my nauseating nephew!” she exclaimed in surprise.

“What are you doing here, dear old Aunt Ruth?” I inquired.

“Eighty-nine,” she said.

“What?” I asked.

“I’m eighty-nine.  I’m not old.”

“Hey Babe,” bellowed a man perhaps fifteen seats to my left.  “Can I have three dogs down here?”

“Oh hey Moe,” Aunt Ruth bellowed in return.  “Three dogs comin’ atcha.”  In rapid fire succession, she hurled three hot dogs — one at a time — with throws that would make Nolan Ryan proud.

“Did that man just call you ‘Babe’ or am I imagining things?” I asked, somewhat shocked.

“Oh, that’s my stadium name,” my aunt replied casually.

“Your stadium name?”

“Yes, my stadium name.  They call me ‘Babe Ruth.’”

“I see,” said I, though it hadn’t really sunk in fully that my aunt was a hot dog vendor at our local AA baseball park.

Image via Wikipedia

“Babe,” yelled a man perhaps twenty-five seats to my right.  “Two dogs.”

“Sure Mitch,” she yelled back.  “Two dogs, comin’ atcha.”  Again, she reared back and fired two perfect strikes to Mitch.

“It seems you’re well known here,” I admired.

“Yep,  the fans love me.  I even get tips.”

“Tips?”

“Yep, and you ought to see how much I get on Bikini Night.”

I found myself gasping for air.  I clutched my throat and tried to think about something else, but nausea was coming on quickly.

That didn’t phase her.  “Yes sir, they call me Babe the Babe,” she said with a grin.  “I am a babe, am I not?” she added, as the next batter lined a single up the middle, scoring the runner on third.

“You are not a babe, Aunt Ruth.”

“Am so.”

“Are not.”

“Am so.”

“Are not.” 

With the next pitch, the runner on first broke for second base with an attempted steal.

“Aren’t I?” Aunt Ruth asked, suddenly looking sad.

At that moment, the base runner stopped halfway between first and second before turning and looking directly at me.  The pitcher turned and stared at me as well.  All the other players on the field also turned toward me, as did the umpires.   The stadium announcer said, “Ladies and gentlemen-men-men, please rise and turn-turn-turn toward section two seventeen-teen-teen, row J-J-J, seat nine-nine-nine, for our English lesson of the day-day-day.”  All eyes in the whole stadium stared at me.

I should pause here for a moment to mention that in each person’s life there are defining moments, challenging moments, that are opportunities for that great Sculptor of Life to take his chisel and further his work in shaping who we are.

That being said, this was not really one of those moments.  This was a moment more akin to somebody reaching the semi finals of the national tuba competition, going into a room full of judges, and realizing, “Hey wait a minute, I don’t know how to play this thing.”

Anyway, it all boils down to this.  Is it acceptable to say, “Aren’t I,” or not?

Simply put, the contraction “aren’t” represents the phrase “are not.”  Of course, you would not say, “Are not I?”

I am.  I am not.  That’s acceptable.

I am.  Am I not?  That’s acceptable too.

I am.  Are not I?  That’s wrong and simply gross.

I am.  Aren’t I?  What about this?

The answer seems obvious.  As is often the case in English and perhaps many other languages, common usage can dictate to some extent whether usage that is incorrect becomes acceptable.

While there are respectable grammarians who will tell you that “aren’t I” is not cool, it seems that the bulk of the educators of the English language have stated that it is perfectly legitimate, primarily because the more formal “am I not” sounds too stuffy for most occasions.

I shrugged, heaved a deep sigh, and gave a thumbs up to the crowd.  The crowd dutifully roared, but only for a moment.  They then continued listening.  Now it was Aunt Ruth’s turn.

“Ain’t I?” she asked.

I know “ain’t” is widely used, and I believe around the world one can find areas where “ain’t” is perfectly legitimate colloquially.  Even though it’s not uncommon to hear this word in the United States, it’s my opinion that the word still carries a big scarlet “U” sewn across its chest.  The “U” represents “Uneducated,” of course.

I wouldn’t use “ain’t” in anything — written or spoken — unless one is trying to achieve a certain effect.

Thumbs down, did I.  Again the crowd roared, and again they quickly became silent and turned toward Aunt Ruth and me.

“Amn’t I?” she asked.

I’ll pause for a moment or two while you try to say that word.  Go ahead, please try.

I have heard that this word is used in some parts of Ireland, and actually I think that’s a wonderful thing.  “Amn’t I” makes a whole lot more sense to me than “aren’t I.”  After all, amn’t is the contraction for am not.  However, if you are writing something that is intended to be read by English speaking people world wide, I would not use “amn’t” unless, again, you are trying to create a particular ambiance.

I gave “amn’t” a thumbs down.

The crowd again roared, and then the stadium erupted with everyone shouting, “Babe … Ruth … Babe … Ruth … Babe … Ruth … Babe … Ruth.”

“I’m a babe, aren’t I?” she asked again.

“Yes, my dear Aunt Ruth,” I answered.  “You are quite the babe.  Hey, while you’re here, I’d like a couple of dogs, Babe.”

“Comin’ atcha,” she smiled.

For other enlightening English essays engaging effervescent Aunt Ruth, please consider the following.

Aunt Ruth Can Can-Can

As Aunt Ruth Likes It

Will, Shall, and Salsa with Aunt Ruth

Aunt Ruth Is She for Whom the Bell Tolls

Hopefully Hopeless

I Laid an Egg on Aunt Ruth’s Head

Image via Wikipedia