Don't Dangle Your Date Like a Participle

     The movie "The Best Two Years" totally ruined my understanding of dangled participles. In an exchange between an over-confident missionary (Elder Van Pelt) and a nervous new guy on his first day (Elder Calhoun), the newbie asks, "Where are you from?" Elder Van Pelt says, "Well, where I'm from, we don't dangle our participles." "What does that mean?" "It means you shouldn't end a sentence with the word 'from.'" "Oh, I'm sorry, what should I have said?" A third missionary cuts in, "You should have said, 'Where are you from, moron?'"
     And thus, I spent the next ten years of my life thinking that dangling a participle was the act of ending a sentence with a preposition. Nope.
     It wasn't until recently that I learned what "dangling a participle" actually means. I had heard the rule, but I never knew its name. It's when a sentence begins with an introductory clause called either a participial phrase or a gerund phrase (meaning that it begins with an "-ing" word), and the initial subject isn't the one performing the action in the introductory clause. For instance, "Hiking up the mountain, the birds sang joyfully." The birds are now doing the hiking, therefore the participle has been dangled. Some more examples include, "Wishing that the parade would be over, the float suddenly gave way under his feet," "Giving it every last drop of energy, the finish line could not have seemed farther," "Speaking in Latin, Jennifer's jaw dropped at the man's linguistic skill," and many more.
     All of these sentences begin by referring to one person, but then they unduly switch to another without any sort of warning. Such sentences can be confusing, making you think that the float has all of a sudden come to life and is experiencing fatigue, that the finish line understands the importance of perseverance, and that Jennifer has miraculously learned a language she has never studied.
     Beyond confusing, these sentences are just dishonest. They seem to take you in one direction, but then they go in another one altogether. This behavior is called misleading, misguiding, and miswalkingbesiding (#mormonjokes). I fully realize that most people don't mislead through dangled participles intentionally, but there is another kind of deception with which I'm all too familiar.
     Having been engaged for the past fifty-two days, I am now off the dating market (notice the properly modified participial phrase). So I now speak for all of my friends, male and female, who still find themselves afloat in the dreaded tempests of the dating pool.

     Guys and gals, dating is the worst. It's the best of times and the worst of times, but mostly the latter until it works. I should probably clarify, when I say "dating," I'm talking about the trenches—the first dates, the awkwardity, the hesitation, the uncertainty, and all that absolute garbage. For those in committed relationships of any level, yes, you are technically still dating, but I will be pointing my comments to those still trying to find that spark.
     I have too many overused dating rants to include here, and I'm afraid that one will lead to another, so I'll try to be direct, concise, and clear. Also, I want to clarify that I have only ever dated women, so I don't know how guys treat girls other than what I've heard, and I know quite a bit about how girls treat guys from what I've lived. I'll try to be bipartisan, but I have an obvious bias. Please apply comments as relevant to your life, gender, and circumstances.
     Above almost anything else, I detest dishonesty in dating. People should be truthful no matter what, but especially when communicating with someone they care about or who cares about them. Many times in dating, I went out with girls who had little to no interest in me, but they either were afraid to hurt my feelings or they liked all the free food too much to tell me that they didn't care. Yes, it obviously hurts when someone you like doesn't like you back, but it's going to hurt no matter when that information comes. To tell a guy (genders interchangeable throughout) that you don't like him is like pushing him in the mud, but to drag it out as long as possible is to tie him behind your horse and run through muddy fields. Or, as my brother once put it, a direct letdown is like getting shot in the throat, but the prolonged agony of uncertainty is like cutting through the jugular with a plastic spoon. Both hurt, but one is torture. The kindest thing to do is to be honest.
     "The Best Two Years" features an example of such dangling in dating. One missionary, Elder Johnson, is practically engaged to his girl back home. To make a long story short, he finally receives a letter from her and an audio cassette tape (this movie takes place a while back). He listens to the recordings for several minutes, hearing all about her college life, her friends, their hometown, and her love for him. He continues listening to these daily recordings, and it's all gushy and adorable, as it should be. But suddenly she arrives at a day where she admits that she hasn't recorded in weeks and that she's met someone—a really nice guy ('cause that totally changes things. "Oh, he's nice? Well then, hope you kids have fun!") that she really likes, and now they're getting married. The missionary spends the rest of the movie trying to recover from this blow.
     Now, it's every guy and girl's right to break up with someone when they want. You don't need to justify your reason for doing so to anyone, but look at what this girl just did: instead of just making a new tape or starting over from the beginning, she keeps the tape rolling before delivering the blow. Those first sections of the tape were filled with love, excitement, and all the signs that she was patiently waiting for him to come home. He must have listened with relief, sure that everything was exactly the same. But it wasn't, and even if she didn't know that when she first recorded, she knew it when she sent the tape. That, my friends, is a major league dangle.

     You're not obligated to like someone who likes you. You don't have to give an explanation for why you're not attracted to someone. There may be many people on your list who fulfill every requirement you have for a significant other, but you simply just don't feel it. That's okay. It doesn't make you a bad person. You don't owe them affection. That said, I won't say you owe them nothing. Everyone should behave courteously. People deserve to be treated like they are valuable and worthwhile. If you have been the victim of abuse by that person, you don't owe them a thing, not even kindness. Get away from abuse. But if you like someone, and they like you, and they're good for you or even might be, don't run away just so you won't get burned. Hearts aren't only broken when they're taken and smashed; some of the worst pain comes from the heart never being received, never being understood, never being trusted.
     TL;DR: Be honest about your feelings, even if they're not what the person wants to hear. When the dust has settled, sincerity and communication will be far more appreciated than lies. You shouldn't have to lie to get what you want. If you're interested, say it. If you're not interested, be kind, but tell me. If you're still conflicted, I want to hear that, too, and then just keep me updated; I'll try not to pressure you.
     I want to give a shout-out to all of my many wonderful friends who play the dating game honestly, who do everything the right way and still can't find their one and only. I don't know what it's like to date for years with no results, but I can testify of God's love and power. If you're living the way you're supposed to, He will take care of you, no matter what that means specifically. There is always hope. Things will turn out.
     To everyone who's ever misled someone (so probably all of us), don't make the same mistake again, and please change if you haven't already. People deserve better than to be forced into a game of "Read My Mind" in dating. People deserve better than to be dangled like a participle.

From a beloved prophet, listen to President Gordon B. Hinckley talk about his decision

not to play a trick on a hard-working man, but instead to experiment with kindness.

And can anyone catch the dangled participle?