From their earliest efforts to talk I have been fascinated by my children’s ability to communicate. I remember watching them as babies intently concentrate on my mouth when I was talking to them, knowing that their little brains were working to process the movement and sounds and getting ready to do the same. We still call our cats “tah-kah” because that was baby John’s first effort to mimic “kitty” and I thought it was so incredible—a little miracle really--how their speech develops.
Then, Jake came along and we had to pull every sound we could out of him because he had the older brother to jabber away for him. His words were little gifts he doled out sparingly. Begging and pleading for him to say things resulted in a patented cold hard silent stare in return. We were so delighted when he did start speaking that we called his brother “la-la” for at least a year because that’s the baby speak Jake used to refer to his brother. “Where la-la?”
But if their earliest words started as a trickle, I’m now struck by the feeling that, we are experiencing a virtual fire hose of communication. It’s coming at us full blast, pummeling us with daily insights and relentless inquiries.
The other night reading at bedtime, Jake stopped mid-sentence. “Mom, did you ever wonder why people started calling people chicken. Why do you think they used a chicken? Instead of saying you’re chicken why didn’t they say, ‘you’re cow?’ That would be cool.”
Or this from the backseat: “I think sumo wrestlers must be really brave.”
Me: “Why?”
Jake: “Cause they have to wear those….things. I bet those are uncomfortable. I wouldn’t want to walk around like that.”
Or this during a snack after school; “Mom, I want to be a scientist and blow things up.”
Me: “Jake, scientists don’t really blow things up so much at least not on purpose.”
“Oh, well then I want to be a race car driver or a spy.”
“Mom, we should conserve water by flushing the toilet only once a day.”
“Mom, isn’t everyone just a different shade of brown.”
“Mom, why don’t we have leg pits?”
But at 11, I see the process slowing down for my older son. His shared thoughts are becoming much more selective and I’m learning that when your tween chooses to speak you better be ready to listen.
Like one Friday morning we were running late for school and John volunteered this message as randomly as he would ask where his boots were.
“Mom, I had to stay in for recess all week.”
“Why?”
“Because we got in trouble at recess for tackling people.”
“Why did you wait til now to tell me?”
“I was afraid you’d get mad.”
Or this: “Is it true that cheez-its have acid in them that will kill you?”
Or this: “I just texted my friend and we were both pooping at the same time!”
None of it makes me mad. Most of it makes me smile. And it all makes me shake my head in wonder as I am continually amazed and delighted and always thankful for each little gift they share by simply opening their mouths but in turn sharing their thoughts and minds with the world.
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