Zuki: Talk-talk

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Zuki makes the happiest noises when she sits down to eat. She chirps and whistles.

Even her little laughs sound like a sparrow.

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I’ve been slowly approaching speech lessons with her.

In Language Development, we learned that young children vocalize in all the different sounds that are used in all the different languages.

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Then, through the reinforcement of the parents, siblings, grandparents, and other language-speakers around her, the child begins to pick out those specific sounds that are part of the primary language of her home culture.

So we have all been talking a lot with Zuki.

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“Zuki? Zoo? Key? Zuzu? Mizuki? Mee-mee-mee?”

She doesn’t pay much attention.

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Confession time: I didn’t start speaking at home until I was four years old, and then, I only spoke with Mom and Dad. Maybe it was because they each had such strong–and distinct–accents. English was their shared language, but each spoke a very distinct, non-standard dialect. At age six, I began speaking outside the home, but only with close friends. I didn’t speak with strangers until I was eight. 

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I didn’t mind being quiet. I still don’t–though Meadow might consider me a chatterbox. 

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I almost went into speech language pathology when I returned to school, except I didn’t like the “disorder” model that seemed to prevail. 

We take a different, developmental approach in early childhood education, and that feels more in harmony with my own experiences as a nonverbal child.

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I am practicing some of the methods we’ve been exploring in our Early Language course.

One style involves combining sign language. This works well for very young children who have trouble forming sounds, but who are processing symbols easily.

I’ve been practicing with the sign for drink.

“Drink,” I say. “Glug, glug.”

Click-click-oo!  says Zuki.

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The sign for happy: “Happy? Happy! I am happy! Are you happy?”

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She stares at me.

Brrrrrr-eeee-warble-chirp-click-click!  she answers.

“Maybe that’s her language,” Jena suggests.

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“Brrrrr-eee-click, click?” I say, buzzing my lips, singing like a little bird, clicking my tongue.

Zzzzzzz-eeee-click! Zuki says with her sparrow laugh.

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“Are you talking to me?” I ask her.

Meadow told me that when Jena first came, she spoke Urdu, which she’d learned from her first care-givers at the refugee camp. Jasper recognized it, first, and started conversing with her in Urdu. They were going to raise her bilingual, if they could find someone who spoke it fluently to meet with her regularly, until they learned that it wasn’t her birth mom’s home language–it was just the language of the camp, a place that was mostly tragic for Jena.

When I click and chirp with Zuki, she looks so happy.

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I start making up sounds, nothing I’d heard her say, just imitating the sounds in our environment: the growl of the garbage disposal, the hum of the fridge, the beep of the garbage truck when it stops in front of our house.

She loves it.

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She looks like she wants to tell me something. I become very intent in my listening pose.

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She doesn’t say anything.

“I’m listening,” I tell her. I make the sign for more.

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“Were you going to tell me something?” I ask.

Suddenly, she lets loose a long cascade of bird warbles, like a wren, with the trills coming faster, faster faster!

“What is it, Zuki?” I ask.

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She makes the sign for “All done.”

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“Oh,” I say. “So we’re all done talking for now?”

Then she puts her lips together and makes the biggest raspberry I’ve ever heard!

Pbbbbbblllllllffffffttt!

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And that’s our language lesson!

“All done now?” I ask.

“Uh-huh!” she replies.

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Septemus 44

7ibling7 of 7eptemu7 7even7

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After getting the Geoffrey Letter, I’ve been thinking about my responsibilities to the pagotogo.

Gotogo inna-inna E. We belong to each other.

I feel responsible for all little kids, actually, even those I meet in the park. We’re all goto.

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But the feeling’s more acute with the pagotogo that crashed here with me. We’re inna-inna. This language doesn’t have an equivalent–except maybe “kin.” That’s a good word.

I would do anything for the gotogo. We form a web through our songs and this, right now, is all we need to keep us strong. But if any of them needed something, I would do what they asked.

Panda has asked me to come see her:

“Bagoto-inna, inna-e-goto.
Please come to see me.”

I’ve already checked with Pops. He says I can go. We studied the light rail routes. It’s easy to get there: transfer at San Myshuno, then take the express direct to Forgotten Hollow. Pops said he’d come, if I wanted, but I want to go alone. Something like this, it’s monumental.

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I’m glad I told Pops about the trip. I like it better when I can tell him things. I know I can have secrets from him, when it’s needed, but it feels better when I can be transparent.

I have to keep secrets from him regarding Fi. If he knew there was danger around her, he’d feel the responsible thing to do would be to tell Geoffrey, even if that meant that she’d be removed. He puts her physical safety first. But she’s a bizoo, like me. Her soul’s safety is more important. Right now, her soul needs to be with her two. And their souls need her.

“Hiforus.” That’s her latest song.

Here’s what I sing back:

Tii payali-shishili Fi
I sing-listen you.
Fi payali-shishili Ti
You sing-listen me.

Bighouselittlehouse
Twocareandonecare
And I care for you, too.

One of my pagotogo has asked us to sing in words he can understand:

“Use words like these and I sing along. 
Sing to me in words like these, please and thank you.”

I will. But I think, maybe, he would like to also understand Vingihoplo, and, since I’m the bagoto, it’s my responsibility to teach!

Here’s the song I’m singing to him:

Hey, little brother, brother
It’s your big brother
Your black eyes like mine
See black eyes like mine.

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Sing your song,
I sing along.
Do you hear me sing
When chimes ring?

You are my brother,
Goto means brother.
I’m your big brother
Ba is the other.

Bagoto, big brother
Pagoto, li’l brother.

E inna-inna O means
I belong to you.

O inna-ina E means
you belong to me.

We belong to each other,
EO i’ni EO,
It’s true quite simply for
You are my brother.

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Pops asked me once if I wanted to bring friends home after school. I guess I could! I never really thought about it. The thing is, at school, my siblings’ songs sort of recede because there’s so much conversation around me. At home, where it’s quiet, it’s a lot easier to listen. Home-time is family-time.

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Author’s note: This chapter features songs from Thymeless’s Pandora, @For_Eorzea/ Summonerd’s Fi, and Allysimbuilds’ Manny.

Septemus 9

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Dear Sept,

Life’s been going pretty well for us, if I do say so myself.

We’ve both declared faux BLT to be our ultimate favorite of all time.

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“How’s the sandwich, kid?” I ask when we settle down for supper.

Sebastionit’sverygoodthankyouverymuch.”

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“You really like it?”

Sebastionaskmeinnomokotpoti.

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You always make sure I get plenty of practice with language learning, since you know I’m not as gifted that way as you are.

It’s hard to speak your language when I’m eating, since I’ve got to do that falsetto, gargly kind of thing. But I finish my bite and ask again.

Bizaabgotojo costimotoki-yatopiko bizoopagoto, o si tapi?”

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O si tapi. Sebastiondon’tforgethowyousupposedrespond,OK?”

“Ok,” I say. “Oh, squeegee!” Squeegee is my favorite word, denoting thanks in specific, gratitude in general, and all manner of benevolence and trust in the goodness of life.

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I often see you, standing on the porch at night, looking out. Usually, when you come in, you seem peaceful and content. So I haven’t been worrying.

So much goes on inside your head–you have so many things to think about. I remember what it’s like to have questions and feelings that surpass the capacity of any words in any language, so I always like to give you space for your silences.

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We still do the waiting dance.

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You’ve been asking to learn to read, so I’ve pulled out my pack of flashcards from my ECE days.

You’re picking up words well.

Kitty!” That’s an easy one, of course.

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The other night, we were doing great. You rattling off word after word.

Then you stopped, all of a sudden, and looked at me with your heart-breaking loneliness.

SebastionIcanreadnow. Whylettersnotcome?”

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Oh, baby. Is that why you wanted to read? Because you thought once you knew how, the letters would come?

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We’ve got to wait, baby. Don’t worry. I’ll send out more tomorrow.

Your bizaabgotojo,

Sebastion

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Septemus 5

Dear Sept,

We’ve been spending a lot of time practicing talking.

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At first, it was challenging for me to make that high, echoing sound like you do.

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But once I discovered that if I spoke in a falsetto, and sort of filled my mouth with saliva and kind of gargled while I spoke, you seemed to think that I was intelligible.

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You’ve been teaching me all sorts of words.

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Slicodoxnipaya,” that’s for a large-winged bird that soars, like a hawk or an eagle.

It helps that we’ve been developing that style of visual mental communication.

I get a flash of an image, you say the word, I repeat it.

Your smile is the best reward, but even without it, I’d still enjoy learning.

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Your language is fascinating.

I like the syntax especially: noun-verb-verb-noun.

There are no objects: both nouns are subjects. Every action is met with an action.

This way of thinking promotes agency: I give-receive you.

Bizaabgotojo sopastillo-sacastillo bizoopagoto. The parent bathes-scrubs little kid.

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Bizoopagoto spaskitaka-sploshtoki bizaabgotojo. Little kid splashes-soaks parent.

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Beginning to develop the ability to communicate helps. But I still don’t have all the answers you want.

I understand what you’re asking now, even without the mental images you’re getting so good at flashing to me.

I still don’t know where your brothers and sisters are. Ms. Snyder wouldn’t say.

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Neither would her superiors.

“?Bizoopagototogo-sipaxni-sitakni stallada? “

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Yes, I know that means, “Little kids go-empties space.”

But I don’t know how to tell you that I don’t know where they are.

“How do I say that I’ll keep looking?” I wondered.

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Then I thought for a while, as you waited, looking at me with expectation.

Bizaabgotojo spiya…,” I tried, “Er. Bizaabgotojo spiyataka-spiyokaya, um, spikayti bizoopagotogo.”

Sebationnoaccentgoesonsecondsyllable,” you said.

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I repeated, “Sebastinnoacc— Wait. Did you just say, ‘Sebastion, no. The accent goes on the second syllable?'”

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You laughed.

You little stinker! Do you mean you’ve been understanding me all along? What, did they have language tapes on your ship that you all listened to when you voyaged here?

I tried again, putting the accent on the second syllable in bizoopagotogo.

“OK,” you said, in your tiny echoing moon-river voice.

And we went inside for grilled cheese.

“I’ll keep looking,” I told you again, when I tucked you in for bed. “And I won’t stop until I find them.”

Oh, squeegee,” you said, as you fell asleep. And while you slept, you smiled.

Sleep well, my bizoopagoto.

Your bizaabgotojo,

Sebastion

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Forgotten Art: Meadow-Watergate 2

A reply to: A Letter from Mr. Watergate

meadowwrite01

Dear Mr. Watergate:

You are brilliant! A child-development genius!

Did anyone ever tell you that? It’s so true.

Let me tell you what happened, and you will see how helpful your insights were to me.

The other day, my uncle Jasper stopped by.

Jena and I were sitting in the living room, “talking.” As usual, we didn’t have a clue what the other was saying, but we were playing along, both of us trying not to get frustrated by the other’s lack of total comprehension.

Then, when my uncle sat down, Jena looks at him and says, “Assālam ‘alaykum.”

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My uncle smiled and replied, “Wālaikum assalām. Ap kaisi hain?”

“Ap se milker khushi huwi!” she said to him.

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Jasper turned to me and said, “Your baby speaks Urdu.”

“You mean it’s not baby-talk?” I asked.

She started babbling excitedly.

“Well, that’s baby-talk,” my uncle said. “But before, she was definitely speaking Urdu.”

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He went on to say that it was surprising. Urdu is the official language of Pakistan, but it’s an uncommon first language. Punjabi is far more common as the language spoken at home.

“Maybe it has something to do with her being born in the refugee camp,” Jasper said.

But at any rate, we discovered that she does, indeed, speak another language! And my uncle, at least, can comprehend her!

So when you wrote to me, “Toddlers like to repeat things they hear. Jena could be speaking in another language,” you were so right!

Oh, thank you, Mr. Watergate! (Can I call you Chancelor? Do you go by Chance?)

(Ha! That sounds like a joke. “Do you go, by chance?” Never mind. I think I’m getting punchy from toddler-cabin-fever!)

So I’ve been using your other piece of advice, about how toddlers like to repeat things they hear, and I’m using flashcards to help Jena learn English. I keep it simple and fun, like a game (or I try to), so she doesn’t get bored or sad. She still gets sad a lot.

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At first I thought that I should learn Urdu, so she and I could communicate in her language. But I did a little research on language development in bilingual children. The experts agree that kids do best if each adult speaks only one language with the child, rather than mixing and matching. It helps the brain keep everything in the right file drawer, I guess.

So I decided that I will speak English with Jena. Jasper, who’s a retired professor himself, says that he knows all about the research, and he doesn’t go along with formalized prescriptions, so he will be, as he puts it “the rebel granduncle” and speak whatever language he feels like with her, even French.

“That way,” he says, “her mind can file me in the category of Uncle Polyglot.” He’s kind of a nut.

I’m in the process of  finding someone who will speak Urdu with her. I hope, too, to find an Urdu School in San Myshuno, if not closer, so that she can grow up biliterate, in addition to bilingual.

Jasper has friends and neighbors who speak Punjabi and Urdu, and he thinks they would be eager to talk with her.

The other day, I went out for a jog while Jasper was here looking after Jena, and I ran into (well, not literally 🙂 ) someone I’d seen a few times at the refugee center when we were making arrangements for me to adopt Jena.

Karim came from the same camp.

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He seemed a little wary of me at first. But we got to talking. He’s living in Windenburg now, where  he has a technology job as network-server-something. I told him that I’d adopted Jena, and I asked if he’d be willing to visit sometimes, to talk with her.

He said he would.

So, I’m really excited now! It seems like Jena will have someone to communicate with, while she learns English at the same time! Isn’t that exciting?

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I also really enjoyed your insights about toddlers being very emotional. I’d never thought about toddler hormones!

But I guess it makes sense. I’ll have to do some research on toddler brain chemistry and development and the connection with emotional states.

That helps me relax so much to know that at least some of this is a natural process: it’s not all the result of a traumatic first few years or of lingering grief.

She does often seem very happy.

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And she and I are enjoying our conversations more than ever!

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Goodness! This whole letter has been all about me and Jena and Uncle Jasper! I haven’t even mentioned how much I enjoyed the photos you sent of you and your beautiful daughter. She has your smile!

I have to admit to feeling envy when I see how close the two of you are. There’s always a physical distance between Jena and me that mirrors the emotional distance that lingers between us. I hope at some point that we achieve the easy bond that you seem to have with your daughter. Are you that close with all your daughters?

It’s not for me that I want this attachment (I’m emotionally satisfied by my close ties with my uncle and my brother), but for Jena. I want her to experience growing up with healthy attachments so that she’ll be able to form close relationships throughout her life.

Maybe some day.

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Please write me more about you and your daughters and your wife! I’d love to hear all about your life and your secrets for creating happy, healthy family!

Thank you again for your wisdom.

Much love,

Meadow

p.s. Your idea of a play date for our two littlies is so tempting! At present, I’m limiting my social life to the essential. I want to keep my life as simple as possible so that I’m able to give Jena the attention she needs. Maybe later, once she’s better adjusted, we can think about letting our children play together. I must admit, it would be so fun to talk with you in person! I’d love to hear your words of wisdom straight from your lips!

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