A Complete Thought

Mobstr. HUH. Undated. Mixed media street art. Photograph courtesy of Mobstr.

For as long as I can remember, English teachers have been told—and have repeated to their students—the classic definition: "A sentence is a complete thought, with a subject and a predicate." But, I have asked myself, "what about "Huh?"

Perhaps there are stretches to definitions, with some words simply being understood. With a certain kind of inflection, "Huh?" means I don't understand or I'm not sure. After all, language is not precise in its construction. This includes, for example, parts of speech that are a bit confusing, such as It in "It's raining"—a pronoun, but for what noun?

Some people are likely to prefer a clear-cut definition of a sentence (and, certainly, much else), although open-minded, critical thinking may not allow that. The interrelationship of language and thought, and the various constructions and uses of language, inevitably involve philosophical considerations.

Those ponderings stem originally and most directly from my third year of teaching English. Then, with money far from plentiful, I took a second job at a small local religious high school, requiring me to be there three late afternoons each week. On Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday, I was in front of a sophomore class, discussing, among other matters, the fundamentals of language—punctuation, grammar, sentence structure. Except for a wild drive to be on time from William Howard Taft High School in the Bronx, New York, to the Upper West Side of Manhattan, I looked forward to it, being there with students whose parents were spending money for them to get a good education, with classes of not more than twenty, most focused on learning as much as they could.

One Monday after a month or so, we began dealing with the subject, predicate, and definition of a sentence. I had taken a seminar funded by the U.S. government the previous summer, one in which we explored whether simple grammatical terms were accurate and adequate. The seminar had challenged what I thought I knew, what I had been taught. It had re-opened what I had considered a closed subject, one with clear delineations and conclusions to be accepted, not evaluated. And the thinking felt good, like stretching and a good walk after sitting much too long. Possession of a brain, I realized (not for the first time), was such a wonderful gift, one that flourished with exercise.

With that fresh in mind, I said to the class, "What is a sentence?"

Almost every hand rose, and Karen, a thoughtful student who seldom raised her hand, did so this time, replying, with much confidence, repeating what she had been told in earlier English classes, "A sentence is a complete thought." She paused, then added, "And it has a subject and a predicate."

"Huh?" I said, and Karen repeated her answer.

"Is what you said a complete sentence?" I asked.

"Sure," she said. "Maybe two."

"Is 'Huh?' a sentence? Or your 'Sure'?"

That brought others to tell me what they were certain that they knew, that there were words that were understood, like I'm before sure, and I don't understand or I'm not sure after or properly hidden in Huh.

"Does everyone understand that there are words that are somehow there—understood— but unsaid?"

No hands were raised, but the nods and grunted chorus told me the answer was in the affirmative, that they were sure of it.

"Does everyone understand the same understood words?" I asked.

"Well, maybe not exactly," I was told by Ronnie, "but the meaning is the same."

"What if my Huh? meant that I had not heard Karen, not that I was unsure if I understood her? Or if some people thought I hadn't heard her and others believed that her answer was not clear for me? What if I was an idiot [the class tried—unsuccessfully—not to giggle at this point], and that is why I did not understand, or if Karen's answer had not been clear, or...