The Secret Language

Every parent thinks their kid is a genius. We hear anything babble resembling a word and we’re suddenly gushing with pride and joy. But what we’re really proud of is ourselves, for finally deciphering what the hell it is they are actually trying to convey. We’re like the synapses, bridging that gap between mumbled gobbledygook impulses and actual ideas.

Unfortunately, most times, we are the ONLY ones who understand. Like some toddler argot, it really doesn’t make sense to the layman without imploring the help of a Little Orphan Annie secret decoder pen, as the following examples illustrate. It’s even more fun without proper context.

Bub: Shit! Shit! Shit!

Me: Dude, the neighbors will talk. What are you screaming about?

Bub: Shit. Car in shit.

Me: Yes, of course, Bub, the car is in the STREET.

Bub: Black peach, black peach! Oooh, black peach cold.

Me: Yep, maybe we should move your crib inside. The back porch IS pretty cold.

Bub: Can I have Dum Dum peas?

Me: Dum Dum peas. Sounds very Wonka-esque. And gross.

Bub: Datum.

Me: You’re welcome.

Bub: I suck! I suck! 

Me: Don’t be so hard on yourself, Bub. It’s a little early to make a definitive call one way or the other. 

Bub: Daddy help? 

Me: All right, let’s get your foot un-stuck.

  

Me: Why don’t you try walking this time?

Bub: Daddy, kill you?

Me: Wow, that seems a bit extreme. If you don’t want to walk, just—

Bub: Kill you? Um…can daddy kill you? Peas?

Me: Fine, I’ll carry you.

Bub: Fuck? I need a fuck.

Me: You and me both, brother. But how do we ask?

Bub: Can I have a fuck? Peas?

Me: Sure, buddy, here’s your FORK.