Say What?

When we had our first child, there were two things missing: an instruction manual, and a translation book. It didn’t take long to figure out that a language barrier develops instantly and a command of the English language takes a lifetime to master.

Interaction with a baby is simple, in retrospect. Sure, with our first baby I was constantly calling my mother with “what do I do? He’s crying!”. I’d feed, burp, change, and repeat until I was at my wit’s end as to what could be the problem. I finally learned, as all parents do, that sometimes babies cry. They do that. Cat’s purr, dogs bark, birds chirp, and babies cry. Over time I learned to decipher the crying by its tone and intensity. I had twins less than two years after my first, and that was a major crash course in all things pertaining to babies. After 7 babies, I consider myself a pro.

The toddler years are particularly interesting and frustrating. While the child learns to form sounds and letters, the parents are left to a seat-of-the-pants type of interpretation, because, of course, each child is different. The twins were even more entertaining because there were times when it seemed they conversed in their own language to each other. I might have been able to decipher it if I wasn’t so sleep deprived at the time having 3 children under 3 years old. I’m still recovering, 19 years later.

In the elementary school years, there is a language they have that is more easily translated than all others. It’s called plain English. I relish these years because you can take them at their word, and they are quick to speak pleasantly and slow to argue. Somewhere that changes and then we enter the next phase of linguistical development.

Then comes the teenage years. At one point, we have had 5 kids engulfed in the teenage years at once under our roof. The food bill was astronomical. The language barrier, for some reason during this period, seemed to increase instead of diminish. One might suspect the barrier to close as they grow up, but that is not necessarily true. Not only is there griping, sniping, snapping, and sarcasm, but a parent also needs to translate eye rolls, shoulder shrugs, and scrunched up faces. There is also the need to be able to interpret vague, monosyllabic grunts which can mean anything from “great meal, mom” to “sure, I’ll clean my room, but in my good time,” to “this family outing sucks.”

Teenagers don’t seem to have any problem interpreting each other. One day I walked into the kitchen. One teenage daughter was sitting on the counter (apparently hearing loss is common in the teenage years because I have told her a hundred times NOT to sit on the counter) conversing with her next youngest brother, also a teenager. I use the word “conversing” very loosely here.

“Mmmph,” she said, her mouth full of sandwich. I couldn’t help but note that the crumbs which fell on the floor would have fallen on the counter had she not been sitting on it. But, for fear of making a mountain out of a mole hill, I’ll let it go.

Her brother responds, his mouth also full, “hhmphmmph.”

She nods, then he twitches his shoulder, and they both leave the kitchen.

I watch them leave. What? I obviously totally missed the interpretation.

Another language barrier, as I already mentioned, is selective hearing loss. This doesn’t have to do with actually ignoring, or not hearing words. It has to do with not hearing the answer they want.

“Mom, can go over to my friend’s house?”

“No.” I was thinking of the disaster area only someone in a HAZMAT suit would dare to enter that she was supposed to clean. It’s also known as her bedroom.

“It’ll only be for a few hours.”

“No.”

And so, it goes for several minutes until I want to use ASL, French, Spanish, German, and any other language I can muster to reply in the negative. Odds are she’ll understand at least one of them, right?

Another way youngsters are deaf is when you say something “out of date” to them. This is a personal favorite. My children are fairly intelligent, and can usually figure out what I am saying to my husband if I try to speak in any kind of code. By dredging up some outdated vocabulary, I can usually stump them.

“Don’t harangue your sister!”

Silence of the crickets follows. Then a hesitant: “What?”

Son: “Can we go to the movies?”

Me: “Sorry, I’ll have to give you a raincheck for that.”

Another round of silence of the crickets. Then a hesitant, “A what?”

Son: “Can I borrow the car?”

Me: “No.”

Son: “Why not?”

Me: “Because if wishes were horses, then beggars might ride.”

He doesn’t even try to figure that one out.

So, dear younger generation, if your brain is discombobulated with feeling harangued by the older generation who promulgate and leave you feeling higgledy-piggledy, don’t yawp about it, just surmise its likely meaning.