Yesterday, I overheard a conversation in which a woman described how to press and preserve leaves. Sh instructed to place them between sheets of wax paper and press them under heavy books. What she actually said was, “Get the biggest dictionary you have. Use three or four dictionaries.” I wasn’t part of the conversation, so I didn’t say anything, but I wondered how many homes have three or four dictionaries. We may have that many, but not all are big books. We used to own two unabridged dictionaries. We enjoyed comparing the perspectives of the American Heritage Dictionary and Webster’s Dictionary. For years, we kept one of the big books on or near our dining table and referred to it during our conversation. I remember a time when I dreamed of owning a set of the Oxford English Dictionary, back when the multi-volume set was released every few years in print. I would go to used bookstores, check the price of a set, and decide it was too much.

Times have changed, however. The Oxford English Dictionary is now available online. We still have one printed, unabridged dictionary in our house, but it is old. Dictionaries become dated as language changes, and English is constantly evolving. We generally use our smartphones to look up words when we are conversing these days. There were a few large books employed to press leaves a few days ago, but I don’t think the dictionary was one of them. We have some history books, collections of children’s literature, and other books that have significant heft.

Recently, I reached for my smartphone after watching our grandchildren. The 14-year-old and 11-year-old were laughing and encouraging the 3-year-old to say “six, seven” and gesture with both hands held palm up. I wasn’t following the humor, so I did a quick search, entering 67. The search returned an NPR article, which is a trusted source, so I read it.

It turns out that 67, pronounced “siks sev-uhn” and not sixty-seven, has been named the 2025 word of the year by dictionary.com. It is not uncommon for me to disagree with the choice of word of the year. Last year, dictionary.com chose “demure.” The website claims that it selects a word that reflects “social trends and global events that defined that year.” I fail to understand how 2024 can be defined by “demure.” The year was marked by a close and contentious presidential election, which was undoubtedly not characterized by shyness or modesty. Neither candidate would be accurately described as reserved. The choice of demure for 2024 fell flat in my opinion.

I don’t expect this year’s choice to do any better.

First of all, 67 is a number, not a word. Moreover, if you enter “67” or “six seven” in the search function of dictionary.com, you get “No results found.” The website does not offer a definition. I do not follow the logic of naming a number that has no definition as a word as “word of the year.”

Of course, it is not difficult to find references to the phrase online. It does appear in slang dictionaries that offer: “’67,’ also spelled ‘6-7’ or ‘six-seven’ (not ‘sixty-seven,’ to be clear) is a viral, ambiguous slang term.” That is hardly a definition.

The term seems to have come from a song, “Doot Foot (6 7)” by Philadelphia-based rapper Skrilla, released in December of 2024. "The way that switch brrt, I know he dyin' … 6-7, I just bipped right on the highway," Skrilla sings, using a verb that in hip-hop can describe anything from a car smash-and-grab to smooth driving to general swag.

I understand how a teenager and his sister can find it amusing to have their three-year-old brother sound a bit like a rap musician, or imitate something they saw on a viral TikTok. I don’t understand how a website claiming to be a dictionary can name a pair of numbers it doesn’t define as “word of the year.” I think that being able to offer a definition should be a requirement of naming a set of sounds as “word of the year.” It isn’t as if dictionary.com provides precise and clear definitions in the first place. I don’t find it particularly helpful as a dictionary. Then again, I’m a bit of a dictionary nerd. I like the OED’s row of tabs that allow you to view the etymology, pronunciation, meaning, and use, and several other aspects of each word you’re searching. It also gives plenty of examples.

Having raised children with a dictionary at the dining table, it is interesting to observe our grandchildren. Our daughter has been struggling to get her first-grader to stop calling her “Bruh.” “I’m your mother, not your brother!” she exclaims. I’m pretty sure that the everyday use of “bruh” by Gen Alpha kids doesn’t mean “brother.” It seems to be a general phrase, used to address the people, but also to express frustration. Kids generally don’t think of definitions when they repeat popular phrases.

There have been dozens of abbreviations for “brother” over several centuries. “Bro” is still typical among some age groups, but we don’t generally use “Br'er” as in “Br’er Rabbit” stories by Joel Chandler Harris. A good etymology can trace the phrase that drives our daughter up the wall back at least to the 16th century. She probably isn’t the first generation to have tried to stop the use of slang. My grandmother used to say, “Use proper English!” It generally does not work to try to affect popular language.

Now in my seventies, I don’t expect to keep up with all of the music and slang of younger generations. I do, however, hope to understand what they are saying and occasionally connect with them. I can make my three-year-old grandson laugh by saying “six-seven” and rocking my hands back and forth, palms up, even if I don’t know what the sounds mean to him.

I still think it was a poor choice for “word of the year.”