Many of my memories from early childhood involve frustration that I couldn’t communicate how I was feeling or what I wanted, mostly because my communication abilities were limited, especially before I could talk. Do I have memories from before I could talk? While I don’t remember saying my first word, I certainly remember understanding what was going on and being unable to comment because I lacked the proper vocabulary. How annoying!
Most of us *can* talk and still can’t always properly express ourselves. Communication is complicated. I started to learn that the day I said my first sentence. (And yes, I do remember this!)
I was in our old house, the little yellow one, and my family was going to have company. I don’t remember who was going to come over, but I do remember my parents rushing around the house getting things ready. I remember being really short. I just wandered around the house watching everything.
After awhile, I tottered into the living room, where I noticed my dad poking at the fire with our fireplace shovel. (I didn’t know what else to call it.) I think my mom had said the ashes were a mess and “What if people notice? Dewey, what if we want to use the fireplace while our company is here?!” Again, not entirely sure, but he was tasked with fixing the fireplace with the shovel.
Dad seemed to be in a rush. He stabbed at the fireplace with the shovel, and something unexpected happened: the shovel broke in half. I guess it was old and rusty or something. My dad’s expression was likely a mix of shock and horror. (How would he complete his task now?!) Dumbfounded, he looked down at the useless shovel and said quietly, “It broke.”
The shovel had broken. He had commented on the situation. I felt my mouth moving and heard myself say aloud, “It broke.”
My Dad looked at me. I can’t remember if he was happy or surprised or what.
“It broke,” I said again, feeling excited. The shovel had broken, and I could comment on it. “It broke! It broke!” I repeated.
I remember running down the hall saying it again and again. “It broke! It broke! It broke!” I don’t remember the rest of the day, but my parents tell me that my Dad eventually got annoyed because he was frustrated that the shovel had broken at the most inopportune time, and I kept reminding him over and over again for the rest of the day.
I’m sure my parents were happy I’d said my first sentence, but in typical Melissa fashion, I managed to annoy someone with my victory, even when I was a baby. I was just happy I’d learned to do something, but my Dad was agitated the shovel had broken.
Now I have the vocabulary of a 25-year-old, and I’m supposed to be a communication specialist. Still, I sometimes struggle to properly express something, whether it’s when writing for work or when talking with a friend. Since the Tower of Babel, the only remaining universal language is pizza. I firmly believe that everyone understands pizza. So when in doubt, feed the person or group you’re trying to communicate with some pizza and wait for favorable results.
Sorry about the shovel, Dad. I should have just gotten you some pizza instead of commenting.