I really like words. I think I've mentioned that here before. Reading is one of my loves. I value a precisely chosen word over a paragraph of filler description any day. Some of my greatest jokes and zingers are mere syllables long. Words are important. Mighty. Difficult to take back.
We can't be afraid to wield them, but we need to be careful with their weighty power.
Today I overheard a conversation at a coffee shop that bothered me. It boiled down to a parent speaking to a child in an ugly, careless way. Two months ago, I saw a parent tell his son who was less than two years old to stop crying and shut up when we were visiting the zoo. Calling his delivery gruff is an understatement. These kinds of fleeting moments make me cringe and they haunt me for many months after. My imagination gets the best of me and I think of all the other things they might say behind closed doors, of what their kids are learning about themselves and about the world and about how we talk to one another.
Since before Daphne was born I have been especially aware of ugly talk. I've heard teenagers tell their parents to shut up. I've heard my students use terms "gay" and "retarded" in the most hurtful of ways. I've heard young ones repeat words that make movies earn a rating of "R." One of my unspoken rules as a classroom teacher was that we had to speak with respect and believe me, my students offered me plenty of teaching moments on the subject. And it wasn't until I was a teacher and I heard my students using words they didn't understand that I understood why I was never allowed to say "this sucks" or "shut up" or "crap" at my house as a kid. Thank goodness my parents had some sense.
An unsavory word from a little mouth is ugliness magnified and a symptom of something much larger than letting that word slip out at the wrong time.
Now that Daphne is a toddler, I feel like I live under a microscope. She watches and listens to everything with a curiosity that is unwavering. Yesterday, we realized she was using sign language for "more." We've never taught her this, but learned that another toddler at daycare has parents who are teaching him to sign. Our daycare provider tells us she has never taught the sign to Daphne, but that she learned by observation and knows exactly what it means. The first time we brushed her teeth, I told her what we were going to do before we did it. She mimicked the noise I make when I read the page about brushing teeth in "Little Pookie Goes Night Night." We hadn't read that book once in the week prior to her making that connection. Almost every day she says a word I didn't know she knew. She says "yes" when she wants something. She says thank you or "ank ooo" when she receives it. "Out" and "up" are differentiated. She even tells me "poop" after I hear her grunting from across the room. This girl knows language and she understands that it is her greatest tool. Watching her grow is my only experience with a language learner, so I assume this age of 14 months turns most kids into super absorbent language sponges. I am completely fascinated.
Since she seems to understand so much, I am careful about what she hears coming from me when I can control it. She can tell me "dadda dadda dadda" is home before he even walks in the door because she heard the garage door and she points out birds that I would never notice because I tune their tweeting out. Obviously I'm not perfect and have probably had conversations I shouldn't in front of her. I bet they were about bills or the schedule conflicts or car repairs - not always relaxing conversations. But when I can, I work on making sure most of my instructions are positive. Instead of saying "no" all the time, I've been saying what should be happening. There are plenty of opportunities for practice with a toddler around.
During a slight tantrum because she wants to stand on the arm of the couch, instead of saying no, I might say, "Couches are for sitting" or "We need to be safe on the couches. Please sit down." Sometimes this is really hard. And, of course, when something dangerous happens really quickly and I need to get her attention or stop her in her tracks, I break out the "No!"
I want to tell her so many things, and sometimes I just talk and talk and talk. I know she doesn't understand every word I'm saying, but she will soon. She sometimes stares at me blankly when I tell her that I think it's pretty silly that driver next to us is looking at her phone. I'm sure she doesn't really know much about which shirt matches my cardigan, but I still tell her all about it. And I know she really likes to hear about my grocery shopping list.
Last year, when a frustrated student told her classmate to shut up, I asked her to find another way to tell him what she needed. She already knew my rule about not using that term and she complied. At the end of class, she asked me what I said to my husband when we were arguing and I didn't want to listen anymore - as if she understood that English class was not right time, but that during a fight it might be okay. I explained that we like to try and communicate without hurting each other's feelings and that we had never, ever told one another to shut up. Ever. She was astonished. I don't think anyone in her life had ever expressed an opinion about their choice of words the way I had that day. By golly, Daphne might be sick of hearing it when she is 16, but she will have had these conversations with me.
Anyway, I'm just thinking a lot about talk lately. Talk, talk, talk. We do a lot of it and it is easy to do carelessly, but I'm making it my goal to teach my babe that words can hurt, heal, create change, unify and divide.
