Some months ago, the Illinois Bar Journal put a question to subscribing lawyers: “Is it time to grow your staff?” A few months later the North Carolina Center for Nonprofits sought new members: “Save time and money, grow your nonprofit, achieve your mission.”

The verb “to grow” took root in the 12th century. Since then, it has been spreading like hyacinths in a Louisiana bayou, and the new usage has become just as repulsive. Do you want examples?

In Congress, Rep. Nancy Pelosi promotes Democratic measures for “growing the economy.” A spokesman for the PGA seeks new venues for “growing the game of golf.” Prudential Financial offers a full complement of investment products that will help us “grow wealth.” In recent years steroidal writers have urged us to grow profits, grow membership, grow opportunities and grow new skills.

In the holy name of Noah Webster, how do we grow the game of golf? Add a 20th hole? What is wrong with enlarging staff, expanding the economy and increasing profits? The answer is that “to grow” has become a fad verb. It is cutesy-wutesy. It calls attention to itself, and it adds nothing useful to established usage. Aaargh!

We’re talking verbs today. In the same way that nouns are the bones of language, verbs are the muscles. (OK, Kilpatrick, drop that metaphor before it turns into water hyacinths.) (I will not drop it. I like it.) Rethreading my broken thread of thought: Just as an athlete can get muscle-bound by too much exercise, so we can get carried away by a too ardent lust for the vigorous verb.

Recently I heard from a latent novelist who was proud of his variant substitutes for “to say.” He had his characters remarking, pondering, musing, suggesting, observing, announcing and interrupting, but they seldom merely said anything. Too much of a muchness …

Ordinarily, the problem lies in the other direction. For lack of exercise, our verbs yield to flab and our sentences put on extra pounds. The rule won’t work in every instance, but nine times out of 10, active verbs will work better than passive verbs. “Richardson played Hamlet” always will beat “The role of Hamlet was played by Richardson.” The 10th time occurs when we want deliberately to slow the pace of narration. Today we’re talking vigor.

One of the glories of the English language is that it persistently grows vigorous new verbals. (We may not properly grow an economy, but we can occasionally grow a new past tense.) For example, note USA Today’s account of the 86th PGA championship: “Vijay Singh grinded through a difficult final round until twilight cast long shadows across Whistling Straits …” The same verb cropped up last month in The Washington Post’s piece on the Redskins/Lions game in Detroit: “The Washington Redskins, bolstered by a stingy defense, grinded out a hard-fought 17-10 victory …”

Grinded! What a splendid verb! It is much grindier, or more grindy, than the textbook “ground out.” You taste the grit. None of my dictionaries acknowledges the existence of “grinded,” but its day will come.

Here’s another: to widdle. The Las Vegas Sun reported in September that Lt. Gov. Lorraine Hunt had “widdled” a list of small-business troubles to their 10 most common botherations. I thought that widdle was what a baby does in its diaper, but maybe it’s only an imaginative spelling of “whittle.” Let us put it in the pending file.

James Kilpatrick is a syndicated columnist.

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