One day, a student of mine approached me with a puzzled expression and asked, “Miss Shawna, I asked my teacher why ‘sign’ has a <g> , and she told me it was because English is just crazy like that. I don’t think that’s true. So, why does it really have a <g>?” His confusion was valid, as was his skepticism of the “English is crazy” explanation.
When this student started working with me at the age of seven, he could only read a handful of words and write his name. His confidence was low, and he doubted he would ever learn to read. Building trust took time, but as I helped him make sense of the writing system through Structured Word Inquiry (SWI), his confidence and trust in me grew. By the time he asked me about the word ‘sign,’ I knew he believed I could provide a logical explanation—and I was determined not to disappoint him.
So, what is the story behind the word ‘sign’? Words often have spellings that connect them to their relatives both in spelling and in meaning. The word ‘sign’ comes from the Latin root, ‘signum,’ and is related to ‘signal,’ ‘signature,’ and ‘significant.’ These words share a common base element, <sign> . The <g> in “sign” isn’t just random – it meaningfully connects these related words to their Latin root. In English, words that share a base retain the same spelling, even if their pronunciations differ. In Present-day English, the <g> in ‘sign’ is a marker that connects its relationship to the larger family, through meaning and structure.
Delighted to find a logical explanation, my student couldn’t wait to share what he had learned with his teacher. This same child would also later proudly declare that he would one day become president and ensure all teachers understood that English spelling makes sense and is not “crazy”.
In all fairness, I truly empathize with the teacher who told my student that “English is crazy” because I’ve been in their position. I used to rely on prepackaged programs without truly understanding how the writing system works. I didn’t realize how much I didn’t know. After each new training, I’d feel optimistic, convinced I had found the key to literacy for all. But those highs were followed by lows when the methods proved no better than the last. I spent twelve frustrating years reading literacy and dyslexia research from all over the world without gaining clarity. In fact, the more classes and workshops I attended, the more unanswered questions I accumulated.
Why do we ask struggling learners to memorize hundreds of spellings using flashcards? Why do we teach children to “sound it out” when we know that strategy only works with carefully chosen words? Why do we expect them to remember tips, tricks, and rhymes that often blur together? When my students couldn’t succeed with these methods, I felt like I had failed them. Yet, I remained determined to find answers.
Then one Sunday morning in early 2015, I revisited a website that had caught my attention some months earlier. Though much of the content was over my head, I was intrigued. Randomly clicking through links, I found myself in a Zoom room face-to-face with a man wearing suspenders and a bow tie. He greeted me warmly, saying, “Well, hello there!” Still in my pajamas with unkempt hair, I was caught off guard. Zoom was still new technology to me, and I wasn’t prepared to be transported into someone else’s home in my Sunday morning pre-coffee state!
The man invited me to stay, and I hesitantly accepted. As he presented his take on English spelling and played his videos, I didn’t fully grasp what I was seeing, but it was captivating. I felt like I had found where I belonged. When he invited me to the next session, I thanked him but said I’d better start at the beginning. Today, that memory makes me laugh. I can almost hear him saying, “Oh, Ye Anglo-Saxon.” He recommended I begin with his course, “Latin for Orthographers,” and jokingly apologized to my family, fore he knew I was about to take a deep dive down the rabbit hole that is the world of SWI.
Looking back, I understand his warning. For the next eight months, I barely left my office. Piece by piece, my questions were answered, including ones I hadn’t even thought to ask. I practiced new patterns and connections wherever I went, kept notebooks by my bedside for review, and began exploring words independently. I had discovered that English actually does makes sense!
Those early months transformed my life. Thanks to the man behind “Real Spelling,” I could finally call myself a literacy specialist. Now, I eagerly share what I’ve learned with anyone who will listen. When I meet teachers who are new to this understanding, I empathize with their position because I’ve been there too. But I now know, there is a better way, and that English isn’t crazy, English actually makes sense.
