Man-Rule: Don't Talk to Kids, Part II

A few months ago, I wrote about the difficulties of trying to understand the language of my four-year-old son, Colin. I don't think some of you believed me as I was explaining the frustrations this entailed. I could sense you rolling your eyes and thinking to yourself, "That's just part of being a dad. Quit complaining."

Pardon me while I roll my eyes right back at you. Okay, that hurt more than I realized it would, so instead let me chuckle indulgently, in much the same way you'd chuckle at a monkey trying to solve a Rubik's Cube. Because frankly, you have NO IDEA how yank-your-hair-out frustrating it can be at times to try to decipher four-year-old speak. Let me give you a fresh example.

It's Christmastime, so every morning as I'm driving Colin to daycare, we've been listening to traditional holiday music, like Trans-Siberian Orchestra. He's particularly fond of Wizards in Winter and What is Christmas. Anyway, we were between songs for a moment, and he said, "Daddy, I wanna hear Mah-dee-bah."

Now, I'm accustomed to Colin naming songs based on parts he likes, or the way the tune makes him feel. I've learned what he means by "The Bee Song" (Beethoven's Flight of the Bumblebee) or "Kissmas Song" (the aforementioned What is Christmas). But I'm not familiar with the song Mah-dee-bah, by TSO or anyone else, so I asked for clarification. "What?"

"Mah-dee-bah. Wanna hear Mah-dee-bah."

"I don't know that song, buddy. Where did you hear it?"

He starts to get frustrated. "You do know it. Mommy plays it."

Okay, at least now I know it's not a song I have in my car, and I'm just not understanding his pronunciation of the name. "So Mommy plays it for you in her car?"

"Yes. Wanna hear it."

"I'm sorry, son. I don't have that song in my car. It's in Mommy's car. I can't play it for  you."

He thinks a minute. "Okay, then turn on the radio and play it there."

I explain that just because he's heard it on the radio before, there's no guarantee the radio will be playing it now. "You'll just have to wait for Mommy to play it in her car, son."

He's ruminating, obviously upset that his goofball Daddy can't make the song play like Mommy can. He thinks a couple more minutes. Inspiration strikes.

"Mommy calls it 'Fleece Mah-dee-bah.'"

I sound this out phonetically a couple of times, and the light dawns. "Do you mean Felize Navidad?"

"Yes! That's it!"

I'm proud of myself for figuring out the riddle. "All right, Colin! We got it! Felize Navidad! Excellent! And we didn't get upset, did we?"

"Nope! We got it!" He's all smiles, too. "Now play it."

"I don't have it, son. That CD is in Mommy's car. I told you that earlier."

And just like that, I've gone from Cool Dad Who Figured Out the Semi-Phonetic Breakdown of the Song Name, to Jerk Dad Who Won't Play the Song He Wants to Hear. It's a sulky ride the rest of the way to the daycare.

I'll be so glad when Christmas is over.

(c) 2012 John Puckett