Dave the Dad 29 - Mind Your Language
It’s impressive the things Tom picks up.On Tuesday he pointed to the TV and said ‘Rainbow’. OK, so he really said ‘Ranmoor’ but it was pretty clear what he meant to our ears, sensitized as they are to identifying signs of genius in our son. He was, also, pointing to a rainbow. Very impressive we thought whilst racking our memories for a time when either of us had introduced the word. It’s was doubly impressive because sometimes he will adopt a word that neither of us know, such as ‘peebo’ which he then proceeds to use for a variety of reasons. We might be passing an open van: ‘Peebo,’ Tom will mutter, pointing. We may be walking along the front and see the pier: ‘Peebo,’ Tom will laugh, pointing. We could be in the garden pruning the bushes: ‘Peebo’ he says seriously, pointing. He loves a point. We smile, say ‘Yes’ and swiftly move on because we figure it must mean something to him at least.
This and other comparable signs of development in Tom’s language is fascinating. His grasp of understanding is amazing and sitting with a book in front of him he will quite happily pick out almost every image. And yet he still finds ‘Please’ to be a word beyond even the possibility of risk. True, he has said it, and very sweetly too, enunciating ‘Peas’, usually when there is a muffin involved. He says, ‘Hi there, nice to meet you’ in Cat (close your eyes slowly and then open them again) and will immediately recognize the meaning of ‘VULCANDEATHGRIP’ and yet whenever we ask him to ‘say please’ we usually find ourselves repeating the word hopelessly for thirty seconds whilst he looks blank and points to the muffin. I figure it probably means something quite different to him and we are like those people who go on holiday to Italy and spend the entire time smiling to villagers and saying ‘You sleep with donkeys!’ because their best friend told them it meant ‘Hi’.
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Incidentally, whenever I yell ‘VULCANDEATHGRIP’ Tom shrieks with laughter and runs away, head crunched to one side to avoid my tickling fingers. Not the most educative trick granted, but I tell you something; if Vulcans are real and they invade Earth and then turn nasty and then attack Brighton then Tom will be amongst the survivors. Unless of course they speak Cat and trick him into closing his eyes.
Pleasantries aside, his compound sentences are coming along nicely. He automatically said ‘Bob bike’ when he came across the scooter we bought him for his birthday in September and then left out in the living room last week He was right pleased and ran around for a good five minutes squeaking ‘Bob bike Bob bike Bob bike’ before he even considered that it might be more fun to climb on board. Ah well, it isn’t like he has many toys; some of the larger Toys R Us stores have more.
It is a fact that one of his favourite words is ‘bike’ and the other is ‘man’. He will quite merrily sit in his buggy for twenty minutes pointing out bikes and men until even we tire of saying, ‘Yes, that’s right’. It’s normally quite entertaining for the recipients and we have never received a complaint from a bike although we are now working on ‘lady’ after a few disapproving looks. I guess it can be disheartening for some women to have a short tubby lad point directly at you and shout ‘Man’. Of course Brighton being Brighton sometimes it’s excusable.
He absolutely adores going the park with Millie, both beeping and whooping and vying to see who can show off their language skills the most. ‘Man!’, ‘Dog!’, ‘Door!’, ‘Car!’ ‘Shop!’ ‘Bin!’ It’s infectious. Now even when Jane and I are alone I occasionally find myself pointing into the road and shouting, ‘Bus!’.
Of course one of the best things about Tom’s burgeoning language skills are the bizarre accents he uses with certain words. Of course being Welsh it isn’t easy for me to pass any sort of judgment on this as I spent the first three years of my life in England learning how to say ‘elephant’ without the company collapsing into fits. So if Tom had acquired a Welsh tang it might be excusable, but no! he seems to have somehow picked up Dick Van Dyke’s accent from Mary Poppins. Had he ever seen the film this might be more understandable. ‘No’ is pronounced ‘N-how’ with the vowel sound so elongated that you thoroughly expect if to lead somewhere. And in fact it does, really, as ‘no’ in Tom-talk is not a negative at all but a question.
‘Shall we go for a bath?’
‘N-how.’
‘We have to go for a bath as you have finished moving your vegetables around the plate in a desultory fashion and yet you somehow have managed to smear mulched-carrot over your brand new top.’
See?
His vocabulary is impressive and evolving constantly but I must admit that the thing I most enjoy is his use of laughter as a way of expression. I don’t think we’re alone as parents in loving the noise of our son’s laugh but the truly fascinating aspect is that he has different laughs for different occasions. There is the tickling shriek (always a much loved one with Jane), the slapstick titter (used when watching Mr. Tumble on Cbeebies), the cat’s-doing-summut-odd guffaw (specific to William licking his bits) and, my own personal favourite, the Peter Lorre snicker. This is reserved for naughty moments but if you are around just after he’s pinched Jane’s bum then close your eyes. Just for a moment, you are back again in Casablanca and Humph is about to be crushed all over again. Now there was a man worth pointing at!
July 18 2007
Dave Fouracre aka "Dave the Dad" is a regular feature writer here at thebabywebsite.com.
Read more about his hilarious experiences as a Dad. |
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