Because my no-nonsense mother habitually said “He don’t” and “She don’t,” and my moody steelworker father never opened a book after he quit school at 16, it may seem surprising that I became a stickler for correct English as well as a serious reader. Or perhaps not. To this day, though, I dislike faddish words, vulgarisms, most slang, weaselly euphemisms, clichés, and prose styles that are overly chummy, preachy or hip. When I write, I do my best to sound grown-up but try not to come across as a bewildered holdover from the 19th century.