“Go on, tell me, papa,” Emily says.
The Etymologist confides that Difficult and Hard are words that are similar but not the same. “On the one hand,” he says, “the word Difficult takes its origin from the Latin difficultas, which is an expression for the reversal (dis-) of ability (-facultas). Thus, what is difficult requires some level of skill; mere willingness is not enough. Practice is indispensable. Mastery is the goal. Ultimately, something is difficult because it demands skill.”
“On the other hand,“ the Etymologist continues, “the word Hard comes from the Old English heard, which means something is carried on with great exertion. Ergo, what is hard demands effort and commitment; no amount of skill can guarantee success with the struggle. Perseverance is vital”.
“This, Emily, is why it is often said that it is difficult to say Hello, and hard to say Goodbye.” The Etymologist looks at Emily, weariness growing in his eyes.
“So remember, young one,” he continues between suppressed coughs, “saying Hello takes skill, but saying Goodbye begs commitment.”
Emily smiles at the thought. She stares at the window, the setting sun pouring its light through the curtains, parting the shadows before spilling on the wooden floor. “Now tell me something about Hello and Goodbye, papa.”
The Etymologist leafs through his handwritten notes, drags a finger across the lines of text, stops, and resumes his reading. “The word Hello is a 19th century variant of the earlier hollo, which is related to holla, which, in turn, is from the French holà — an order to stop or cease.” He pauses to fix his reading glasses.
“An order,” Emily says.
The Etymologist nods. “So it is my love -- an order, and orders can only come from those who are in a position of power, whatever form it may be. And so, saying Hello is actually a blatant affirmation of imbalanced relations. To say Hello is to claim the upper hand, to assume the throne of authority.” He returns to the notes. “Meanwhile, Goodbye is a contraction of Good be with ye. Basically, it is a salutation in parting.”
“Is a goodbye final?”
“It is. Or at least it should be. Telling someone that the good be with them implies a sense of finality. The parting is the end, and you never know what is ahead for the person you are wishing goodness for, which is why you desire that good things come their way. From the point of goodbye, everything becomes unknown simply because there is nothing more between two people.”
“Can I say goodbye each day papa?”
“You can, of course, Emily, but it defeats the point of saying goodbye. The salutation loses its sense of permanence because there is no parting.”
“What happens, then, between Hello and Goodbye?”
The Etymologist glances at Emily. Faced with a question that has besieged him for years, one that has brought him to the lonely circumstance of raising a child who has never felt the warmth of a mother, the absence lingering before him like a shadow that stretches far into the night, reaching into his dreams until it crowds the sunrise as if to block the sun, he finally says, “Ah, that is where the magic is, my love. There are only so many words to say. All my life I have learned them, but what I have written can take you no farther than where you began. Everything else you will have to find out for yourself, for better or for worse.”
The Etymologist confides that Difficult and Hard are words that are similar but not the same. “On the one hand,” he says, “the word Difficult takes its origin from the Latin difficultas, which is an expression for the reversal (dis-) of ability (-facultas). Thus, what is difficult requires some level of skill; mere willingness is not enough. Practice is indispensable. Mastery is the goal. Ultimately, something is difficult because it demands skill.”
“On the other hand,“ the Etymologist continues, “the word Hard comes from the Old English heard, which means something is carried on with great exertion. Ergo, what is hard demands effort and commitment; no amount of skill can guarantee success with the struggle. Perseverance is vital”.
“This, Emily, is why it is often said that it is difficult to say Hello, and hard to say Goodbye.” The Etymologist looks at Emily, weariness growing in his eyes.
“So remember, young one,” he continues between suppressed coughs, “saying Hello takes skill, but saying Goodbye begs commitment.”
Emily smiles at the thought. She stares at the window, the setting sun pouring its light through the curtains, parting the shadows before spilling on the wooden floor. “Now tell me something about Hello and Goodbye, papa.”
The Etymologist leafs through his handwritten notes, drags a finger across the lines of text, stops, and resumes his reading. “The word Hello is a 19th century variant of the earlier hollo, which is related to holla, which, in turn, is from the French holà — an order to stop or cease.” He pauses to fix his reading glasses.
“An order,” Emily says.
The Etymologist nods. “So it is my love -- an order, and orders can only come from those who are in a position of power, whatever form it may be. And so, saying Hello is actually a blatant affirmation of imbalanced relations. To say Hello is to claim the upper hand, to assume the throne of authority.” He returns to the notes. “Meanwhile, Goodbye is a contraction of Good be with ye. Basically, it is a salutation in parting.”
“Is a goodbye final?”
“It is. Or at least it should be. Telling someone that the good be with them implies a sense of finality. The parting is the end, and you never know what is ahead for the person you are wishing goodness for, which is why you desire that good things come their way. From the point of goodbye, everything becomes unknown simply because there is nothing more between two people.”
“Can I say goodbye each day papa?”
“You can, of course, Emily, but it defeats the point of saying goodbye. The salutation loses its sense of permanence because there is no parting.”
“What happens, then, between Hello and Goodbye?”
The Etymologist glances at Emily. Faced with a question that has besieged him for years, one that has brought him to the lonely circumstance of raising a child who has never felt the warmth of a mother, the absence lingering before him like a shadow that stretches far into the night, reaching into his dreams until it crowds the sunrise as if to block the sun, he finally says, “Ah, that is where the magic is, my love. There are only so many words to say. All my life I have learned them, but what I have written can take you no farther than where you began. Everything else you will have to find out for yourself, for better or for worse.”
I had to pause and read this multiple times because I wanted to take it all in. There's something about how you phrase your thoughts - it's so intentional and precise. You set out to break people's hearts and by God, you did.
ReplyDeleteOla CB! Thanks! Old habits die hard, they say ;)
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