We live in a time when I need to say this: Nazis are bad.

And I could use this space to analyze when the word "Nazi" has managed to qualify as amusing, and when it hasn't, and why. But that's not what I want to focus on.*

Let's leave the word "Nazi" aside for a few minutes and instead talk about the common prototype of  a dictatorial, hairsplitting, pedantic, shrill, strident curmudgeon who haughtily corrects everyone around her. Call it a grammar cop. Or a grammar dominatrix. A grammar fire-breathing dragon.

I'm none of those things.

What I am is a language lover. I'm a fan of clear, well-crafted sentences. And yes, I've been known to cringe when I hear or see errors of grammar, spelling, punctuation, and the like. But I'm not going to push anyone's nose in their mess and shame them for making a mistake.**

Instead, I try to give everyone the benefit of the doubt and assume that all of us are doing our best. We've all had different upbringings and educational opportunities, and we all have different kinds of brains. (Some people, for example, are predisposed to utter spoonerisms or misspell words. You can blame your genes.)

For those who want to write and speak more clearly and correctly, I will happily share what I know and try to provide assistance. Almost daily, I post little spelling and grammar hints (many of which you can see here) on LinkedIn, Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter. I want to help people distinguish between "me," "myself," and "I" and know their "they'res" from their "theres."

Essentially, my attitude toward language is one of fascination and appreciation. I want to share my enthusiasm. I want to spread the love. And there's nothing Nazi-like about that.

My father loved music and did a lot of singing. Peggy Lee, Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong—that sort of thing. He'd sing "Flat-Foot Floogie (with a Floy Floy)," "I'm Gonna Sit Right Down and Write Myself a Letter," "Why Don't You Love Me Like You Used to Do," and on and on. I mean, there were a lot of songs, and he knew all the lyrics.

One song he sang frequently reflected his outlook, I believe: "​Ac-Cent-Tchu-Ate the Positive," penned by Johnny Mercer, pictured above. You can easily find the complete lyrics online (or just listen to the song), but here's the crux:

You got to ac-cent-tchu-ate the positive
E-lim-i-nate the negative
And latch on to the affirmative
Don't mess with Mr. In-Between

You got to spread joy up to the maximum
Bring gloom down to the minimum
And have faith, or pandemonium
Liable to walk upon the scene

I absorbed this lesson pretty deeply as a kid. It's how I generally made my way through life as a young person—latching onto the affirmative. Also e-lim-i-nating the negative, which is sometimes less snazzily called "denial." When faced with less-than-ideal situations, I was pretty adept at pretending they didn't exist.

I suspect that's part of the reason l became a copywriter. I can play up whatever is good about a product and downplay anything that might be not-so-good. It comes naturally to me.

When I hear about a problem, the first words out of my mouth are often "At least..." followed by some silver lining or another. "At least she'll still have one leg," I might say, upon hearing of someone's amputation. "At least I learned a lesson," I might comfort myself after losing money due to some numbskulled mistake.

This trait can get preposterous if you're not careful. As demonstrated unforgettably in Monty Python's Life of Brian:​