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Connoisseurs of language approach an unfamiliar word in the same way wine lovers savor a glass of fine vintage. They examine its color, bouquet, flavor and texture. They lift it to their eyes, sniff it with their noses, swirl it around their tongues.

And just as devoted oenophiles are eager to learn a wine's history -- its year, the grapes used to make it, the wood in the barrels used to age it -- word lovers treasure the derivations of words -- the fascinating stories of their creation and transformation.

As with wine, knowing a word's heritage provides a deeper appreciation for its complexity, richness and subtlety. When you discover a word's origin, that word comes alive for you in a way it never had before. You're able to use it with authority, precision and grace. To know a word's history is to understand and enjoy its full power.

This can come in handy. A teacher reprimanding students for using sarcasm, for instance, might tell them that "sarcasm" derives from the Greek "sarkazein," meaning "to tear the flesh like dogs." That savage image reminds the students how painful sarcasm can be.

Likewise, the vow of a dissident not to "knuckle under" to pressure becomes more compelling when we learn that "knuckle under" originally referred, not to being crushed under someone's knuckles, but to abject physical submission. When this phrase first arose, "knuckle" meant any joint -- knee, hip, shoulder, neck -- so someone who "knuckled under" bent all these joints in complete genuflection to authority.

"Zest" feels zestier when you learn that it comes from the French word for an orange or lemon peel. A volcano seems more menacing when you know it's named for the Roman god of fire and metalworking who sweats and curses as he pounds his anvil in a subterranean forge. And anyone who has been chewed away by lingering "remorse" will identify with this word's origin -- the Latin verb "remordere," to be bitten again.

Etymology can even save your life. The "jay" in "jaywalker," for instance, refers to a rube or hick. These "jays" were so ill versed in city ways that they crossed busy streets randomly and dangerously, hence "jaywalker."

Who would want to be associated with such bumpkins? Once you've seen the etymological light, you're more likely to heed the "Don't Walk" light.

So let's raise our wine glasses to the histories of our words -- bountiful backstories that enrich, intensify and clarify their meanings.

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Rob Kyff, a teacher and writer in West Hartford, Connecticut, invites your language sightings. His book, "Mark My Words," is available for $9.99 on Amazon.com. Send your reports of misuse and abuse, as well as examples of good writing, via email to WordGuy@aol.com or by regular mail to Rob Kyff, Creators Syndicate, 737 3rd Street, Hermosa Beach, CA 90254. COPYRIGHT 2025 CREATORS.COM

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