Let's talk turkey about The Pony. Some facts you may need to have in order to appreciate today's story.
When The Pony was about a year old, not even a true Pony yet, he had an ear infection that would not go away. The doctor tried five different antibiotics. In fact, the pink medicine foisted on all babies, that refrigerated amoxicillin, set off an allergy in the middle of the night, requiring several hours in the ER to get the bloating down. He was like a pink Violet Beauregarde. Finally, an ENT specialist chucked all those antibiotics, and tried an antihistamine. VOILA! That infection dried right up. However...
The Pony was tested for hearing loss, such a profound interruption of his little language-learning skills had occurred. That was interesting. I had to endure the hearing test as well. Because when kids are not exactly vocal, or good at understanding directions, you can't ask them when they hear a certain tone. So I sat in a darkened room, dandling The Pony on my knee, sworn not to interfere with his reactions, while sounds of differing decibels and pitches went off at various locations around that darkened room. Some The Pony noticed, and turned his head to look for them. Others he was oblivious to. It was determined that indeed, The Pony had partial hearing loss, but nothing insurmountable. He has his own way of speaking, not exactly a speech impediment, more like a weird kind of accent. And he garbles his Rs when they come after a vowel in the middle of a word.
Today, as we turned into the gravel road, after finding EmBee starving for mail, I glanced at the creek. "Look. Since when were there TWO fallen trees laying along the bank?"
"Uh. Forever?"
"I didn't notice that second one, right beside the first. We could build our own floating casino!"
"Huh. You know where you'd find me: playing crepes!"
"What? Playing CRAYpes? Like in 'crepes?'"
"Yeah... isn't that what it's called? Crepes?"
"No. The dice game? I think you mean craps. Like in 'CRAP!' With an S. Unless you're going to be tossing thin pancakes with fruity filling in an effort to win money."
"You mean it's not crepes? I know there's an I in it somewhere."
"No. No I. Just plain old crap. Craps."
"Cease your talking. We shall not speak of this again."
Little by little, I'm trying to get The Pony ready to leave the stable.
And every Pony, before leaving the stable, should know the difference between a card game and a foosy-foosy French pancake.
ReplyDeleteWhat other things is he confused about? (Our son thought people needed to be invited before they could attend a wake or a funeral. I guess he thought the host would need to be sure to order a big enough cake and enough party favors for the guests...)
Interesting about the hearing loss. I was in speech class for much of my childhood because of my lisp, which went away when i grew up and had my teeth straightened.
ReplyDeleteI guess he never learned to lip read, he might mistake sleep for sweep.
ReplyDeleteThank goodness for the doctor who finally figured out the problem, and I love your last line about getting Pony ready to leave the stable. It's so hard to let go when you want to hold on--at least that's how it is for me.
ReplyDeletePony is going to gallop off and be fine.
ReplyDeleteSioux,
ReplyDeleteMaybe that was his way of getting out of attending funerals or wakes.
The Pony is still baffled by that dressing-himself code. Like you don't wear slacks with Adidas slides and no socks.
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Stephen,
Both my boys were in speech class, and neither was helped by it. Genius grew out of his tendency to use the D sound when a J was required. We're still waiting on The Pony to mature, I guess.
Funny how the school speech therapist declared her charges magically cured when they achieved middle school age. Let the record show that the powers that be LOVED having my boys on IEPs, even though they were for speech, because it made their sub-category scores soar during testing time. You may not picking up what I'm laying down, but I'll bet that the teachers who loiter here will know what I'm talking about.
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joeh,
Let's hope not! He might as well guess a woman's name to be Mulva.
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Donna,
Yes, I would keep The Pony tethered forever if it was up to me.
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Linda,
Probably, with nary a look back. I hope he at least learns to curry himself first.