Because I am elderly and foreign, I have very high standards when it comes to the correct use of language. Because I am elderly and foreign, I appear to have given birth to youthful foreigners with very little regard for language at all.
For many a long year my boys have appeared to be oblivious of one another's presence. The combination of their different abilities and disabilities have maybe masked a relationship that I was too obvious to see. I think possibly the speech delays deceived me?
One brother lies on the floor on his back gazing at particles of dust that whirl around in the only air conditioned room. He emits weary sighs at intervals interspersed with the unusual mouth click that visits him for periods of time, but this stim, or self stimulatory behaviour, is the happy version.
The other one whirs around the room on his imaginary snow board, complete with very realistic sound effects. The ambient temperature is 80 degrees. He covers every surface of the room, including the sofa and wall space above. Because he is fleet of foot, he must have footprinted every inch of the room many times in the space of twenty minutes, yet never once has he trodden on the sprawled body of his brother.
Eventually the little one collapses in a messy heap to announce, “I am dah sweat!” A few seconds later, because there’s always a delay for the speech delayed, his brother responds, “you are not dah sweat, you are dah sweaty!”
“Nooo……I am……..dah sweety!” Both boys explode into laughter, but manage to continue between guffaws, “not sweety, dat is dah English! We are say ‘candy.’”
“Candy is for dah girls. Boys are dah chocolate.”
“It not for girls…dumbass!”
“I not a dumbass……..I clever dick!” The revelry goes up a notch.
“No potty words yah big baby!” as he smears snot across his face with a jelly arm.
“I not baby! I’m dah babe.” I watch him strut and strike a pose, a provocative pose. He brother watches too. He takes a minute or two, or three, “yeah, you right. You are Babe dah sheep pig!”