Language

Back on the farm, in the summer of 1954, I heard this strange sequence of sounds. It was as if an animal were trying to sing, but hadn't mastered the language to create the necessary lyrics. So I quietly tip-toed up the stairs to see what my little brother Shawn was doing. The creaky steps must have telegraphed my move as he was focused on the doorway as I peaked around. He was standing in his playpen, one hand hanging on the rail to hold himself up, and the other clutching an empty plastic baby bottle which he was shaking vigorously. Ear to ear was the biggest grin I had ever seen. Pure animal joy spread across the face beneath the curly black hair.

My brother Mike had taught him to make this loud popping sound with his tongue against the roof of his mouth. The moment we made eye contact, Shawn commenced this loud popping like a dolphin with a amplifier. Fresh deck, new deal, out of the pen, a new day was dawning!