Friday, March 03, 2006

Actually, It's an Excavator

Steve is so sick of hearing me tell this story, but it's my favorite, so Steve, be quiet and listen again! Weston started talking at what I think is a pretty young age. His first word, "uh oh", was uttered at just about one year of age. And he spoke clearly too. As he learned new words, he might say them a little oddly the first time, then they came out perfectly after that. By two he was speaking in complete sentences.

A former aquaintance of mine (Beatrice) has a son (Frankie) who was born a few days before Weston. From the moment this boy was born Beatrice obsessed that he was fat, or that he looked too Hispanic (whatever!). As he grew older she constantly questioned her friends about whether we thought Frankie was "slow". In truth, he was totally normal. A little bigger than average (but not fat), very athletic, and although he was slow to talk, it seemed totally normal to me because his dad spoke Spanish to him. So I was left to constantly reassure Beatrice, whilst inwardly seething at her insecurity.

One day when Weston and Frankie were about 2, Beatrice and Frankie were at my home and the boys were playing together. This usually involved Frankie pushing, sitting on, bumping into, and generally manhandling Weston, who was quite a bit smaller. This also made me seethe inwardly. Weston was going through his earth-moving equipment phase at this point in time, so the boys were playing with tractors, dump trucks, diggers, etc. I had stepped out of the room for a moment to seeth and roll my eyes in private, when I heard Beatrice calling to me in great excitement. "Come here, come here, you have to hear this!! Frankie, tell Mommy again what you are holding in your hand." Obligingly, Frankie chortled, "Bahoe, bahoe." (translation:back hoe) and Beatrice clapped her hands in delight at his eloquence and astounding ability to indentify construction equipment. That is, until Weston piped up with, "Actually, it's an excavator."

1 comment:

bobuhlabilder said...

Nah, I'm not sick of this story. You tell it so well and it's one of those child rearing moments we'll never forget (along with the spinach spewing at the grocery store and many others). Do you ever wonder how certain memories that seem so inconsequential when compared to the grand scheme of things remain perched prominently atop your list of life's experiences?