I have a three-year old nephew. He’s a cute kid, but he has some difficulty pronouncing a few words. For example, this last Christmas he got a new “toy twuck” (truck) and a “twackto” (tractor). His parents and most of the rest of the family find these little slips to be absolutely adorable.
I don’t.
I know the risks that come with misunderstanding your child. One slight miscommunication can lead to a great deal of uncertainty. If your child tells you he is going to kill you when you “sweep,” should you be trying to stay awake, or avoiding household chores like your life depends on it?
It’s not all fun and games now, is it?
Perhaps you’re thinking I’m being overly paranoid. You’re probably right. But then again, maybe not.
Before you decide, let me tell you about a little incident that happened to me with my own daughter. When EM2 was three years old, she also had a bit of difficulty enunciating certain words. Usually, it wasn’t a big deal, but one day she almost gave me a heart attack.
I was driving my daughter to daycare. She was in the back seat of my car, strapped into her car seat to the best of my ability (the thing only rocked around a little bit and the kid never actually fell out of it, so let’s not dig too deeply in this hole). While my wife and I were working, EM2 would spend the day with a very nice lady named Carole. We were still a few minutes away from Carole’s house when EM2 began discussing her plans for what she was going to do that morning.
I wasn’t really listening to most of what EM2 was saying. She wasn’t that great a conversationalist, so I frequently just tuned her out. That’s part of what makes me such a good father, the ability to make my kids feel like part of the conversation while still completely ignoring them. Anyway, EM2 said something odd that caught my attention.
She said, “Carole has a dumpy house.”
I told her that was a very mean thing to say. “You shouldn’t say someone has a dumpy house.”
EM2 looked at me for a moment, puzzled. Then she said, “But, Carole told me she has a dumpy house.”
“Carole said that?” I asked. Surprised by the information. I had always thought Carole’s house was very nicely maintained. With three kids under her supervision, plus one of her own, she did a great job keeping on top of the messes the little rugrats were constantly making.
EM2 nodded at me emphatically. “She said she has a dumpy house and she is going to blow it up with all of us in it.”
At this proclamation, I stomped on the brakes and brought the car to a skidding halt on the side of the road. I was wondering if I should go confront Carole directly, or call the police. I had always thought she was a very calm, loving person, but I also understood what a houseful of noisy kids could drive a person to attempt. Especially when one of those kids was one of my own demonspawn.
With the dust cloud still drifting over my car from my abrupt stop, I turned around to face EM2. She was looking at me with wide eyes, probably wondering what the hell was wrong with dad.
“Okay,” I said. “Exactly what did Carole say to you?” I was trying to figure out if today was the day Carole planned to blow up her house, or if I still had a day or two left. I had things I needed to do today.
“She said she had a dumpy house we could play in. We were gonna stand inside of it when she blew it up. She has it in the backyard.”
Understanding finally dawned, and my heart started beating again. I think I might have needed a fresh pair of pants, however.
“Kiddo,” I said slowly. “Does Carole have a jumpy house in her backyard?”
EM2 nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“And she said that you kids could stand in it while she blew it up? Inflated it?”
“Uh-huh. We can be in the dumpy house when she blows it up.”
Jumpy house. Not dumpy house. She was going to blow it up with air, not with … anything else.
With the mystery of the exploding house solved, I pulled the car back onto the roadway and started driving again. Apparently, Carole was not actually a homicidal maniac intent on the mass extermination of children through pyrotechnics. She was a very nice young lady that had decided to treat the kids to a playdate in a bouncy house.
And my daughter had almost sent a SWAT team to kick down her front door and drag her off to jail. All because the little monster was too lazy to learn how to pronounce the letter “J.”
So, the next time you hear a child mispronounce a word or substitute one letter for another, you shouldn’t find it cute or funny. You should remember my cautionary tale about what could happen during a misunderstanding, and immediately slap the snot out of that kid.
Or maybe just blow them up in a dumpy house.
.
.
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