Beehawks

I’d say we can officially declare Jacob fluent in English.  Well, I probably should have declared it at least two months ago— consider this declaration retroactive.

Now I know the technical distinctions of fluency and the hazards identified by bilingual educators.  Essentially adults can be mislead into thinking kids are fluent because they speak perfectly from a colloquial perspective, yet aren’t truly fluent academically.

Blah.  BlahBlah.  Blah.  Blah.  My version of fluent is that he speaks in complete paragraphs with all the little words that string thoughts together like a, the, to and actually.  He uses words like difficult.  Shoe horn.  There’s a lot of talk about his binoculars, leaf blowers and astronauts.  I can’t really think of all the things he’s been saying lately that have given me pause… but I’ll take better notes and get back to you.

So, I was under the impression we’d reached the state of fluency until a few weeks ago when we went to the San Francisco zoo.  I think this was our third trip and it was great fun, as always.  The first part is an African savannah where they have the most beautiful giraffes and Jakey asks, “Where are the beehawks?  Last time, there were beehawks.”  James and I looked at each other.  It has been a really long time since Jake has said anything to us that is totally incomprehensible.

“What are you talking about?  Ostriches?  Gazelles?”

“No, the beehawks.”

We let it pass.  Then maybe 30 minutes later we were winding our way through an area that seems to be random “open space” at the zoo.

“Look Mama, a beehawk!  Two of ’em.”

Peacocks.  Mystery solved.

And then about two weekends ago we’re driving in the car and Jake is rattling off stories in the back seat.  He tells me “Indians poke buffalos with troll bones.”

“What?  What are you saying?  Did you say ‘troll bones’?”

“Yes, Indians.  They poke buffalos with their troll bones.”

“I’m definitely not familiar with that.  Where did you learn this?”

“At Granddad’s house.”

For two weeks I’ve been hoping I’d discover that “troll bones” was some sort of mispronunciation of some other concept that wasn’t quite as disturbing.

It turns out he really does mean troll bones.