There has been a lot of talk in my house lately that I just don’t want to hear. Your kids reach a certain age. They begin to understand certain things. They’re capable of using words in ways that you just hoped would never happen.
“Euss-gay at-whay?” my son says to me.
I cringe. He then rolls out an entire sentence without stumbling using the most annoying invention known to parents—Pig Latin.
Oh, yes. I know we’ve all experimented with it. We tried it. For most of us, we just didn’t like it. Too much work. My son likes the control. He likes how my shoulders jump to my ears every time he belts out a sentence or two, flawlessly. He loves that it seems to pierce my ears like nails on a chalkboard and blind my eyes like bright white sun.
Make it stop. Make. It. Stop.
If I hear it one more time, I’m going to eam-scray.
“Om-may, an-cay I-ay atch-way e-thay ame-gay?”
“I’ll answer you when you can talk the right way,” I say. Or I ignore him. Or I scream inside my ead-hay.
It’s been going on for weeks. I’ve heard it so often that I can sometimes decipher his long sentences with ease. And I don’t want to. This morning I found myself thinking in Pig Latin. Epressing-day. It is rubbing off on me. I’m afraid I’ll answer another mom at school or a client on the phone in Pig Latin. “I have an 11-year-old son,” I’ll say and hope that clears things up.
But I think I’ve come up with a solution. It’s going to take some practice.
Yes, the language spoken by Ewoks. He won’t even know what I am saying but he’ll want to know so badly, it will hurt.
“Che womok! Na goo. Noot.” (Beware! Stop now.) And while he’s at it, “Amoowa manna manna seeg toma jeejee.” (You have a food on your face.) Because that’s just a given.
I think sometimes the suffering is worth it when you can beat your child at his own game, right?
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