My youngest granddaughter came to me recently, holding a colorful plastic lei in her hands and with rising inflections on each word said, “Clop? Head?” As a well-schooled speaker of “Kid,” I correctly interpreted the two-year-old’s speech and placed the lei on my head. Myah has not been able to master my grandparent name, the name her two cousins know well: “Cool Papa.” Myah’s mother abbreviated the name to “Cool Pop,” and try though she might, the best Myah can do with the name is, “Clop.” My eldest has encouraged my first two grandchildren to turn this misnomer into a series of catchphrases: “You’re such a Clopper,” and “Did you Clop this?” At home, my daughter lays out a series of outfits from which I am to choose when dressing her daughter for the day, saying, “You have a lot of Cloptions,” then dissolving into laughter. Her sister delights in their household’s take on the Dr. Suess classic, renaming it “Hop On Clop.” I cannot wait for Myah to achieve a greater mastery of the language.
My second bride laughed as she recounted an incident with our son. “I hated that you taught them the correct terms.” She was recalling a moment when she had taken our two young children to a movie; once in their seats, our son announced that he had to go to the restroom. His mother insisted that since he’d just come from the restroom, that he did not have to go again. Chris kept lobbying and Mom kept denying until Chris bawled: “But Mom! I have to move my bowels!” This brought on hilarious laughter in the theater.
My father insisted that his children learn the correct terms for bodily functions, so we (first three) were the kids who urinated and moved our bowels. I internalized the lesson and taught my first child in the same way, but of course, kids say stuff and one day, she said something. As we all know, “your” is a possessive determiner, “belonging to or associated with the person or people that the speaker is addressing.” And of course, “my” is also a possessive determiner, “belonging to or associated with the speaker.” So, when Child One was taught “urinate,” she converted it to the possessive determiner associated with herself, and would tell her parents that she had to “my-inate.” Once Child One became “Grandchild Delivery Device,” she would often ask my first grandchild, “Do you want me to help you?” Xavion heard the verb and the pronoun and when he needed assistance in something, would say to his mother, “Mommy, help you.”
When my son was young, he had an interest in insects and animals. During a sojourn with me in St. Louis Missouri, he corrected an adult’s mistaken identification of a turtle, using an adverb popular with his sister: “Actually, it’s a flat nose turtle.” He was six. When his sister was four, she startled their older sister by correctly using “actually” in a rejoinder.
Kids say stuff. Two-year-old Myah is putting together more complex sentences, having graduated from “More,” to “More eggs.” I’ve been unable to get her to add “please” at the end, though she will “please” when prompted. She has memorized the appropriate form when requesting to be picked up, though: “Up please, up please.” (I rarely deny her.) When her mother and I are in animated conversation, she will charge us, waving her hands and crying out, “Guys! Guys!” When people pass her and her mother on the street, she exhorts them to “Wait, wait guys! Wait, guys!”
Clop can’t wait to hear what’s next.
cjon3acd@att.net