I am learning a new language. I am speaking it fluently. It is not something I expected to do at this age, decades after I completed my schooling. But I am amazed how easily it is coming to me.
It’s called Baby Talk. Or as scholars refer to it: GSL.
Gibberish as a Second Language.
“Are you hungry? Who’s hungry? You want oatmeal? Yes, you do!”
That exchange, by the way, falls under GSL‘s Inquisitive Present Tense, where everything is suddenly a question. (“Who needs a nappy? Do you need a nappy?”)
GSL has many such tenses. Like the Imperative Present Tense:
“Don’t touch the remote! We don’t touch the remote!”
Or the Future Simple Tense:
“We’re going to change a diaper now! Yes! We’re going to change a diaper!”
There’s also the Present Infinitive (“Do you have to poop?’’) The Past Infinitive (“Did someone just poop?”) And the Future Infinitive (“I think someone is going to poop!”)
So GSL can get complicated — especially at this age. But my motivation is strong. It arrived in the form of a now-2-year-old little girl who came into our lives as an infant with a medical condition. Her name is Nadie. Which, by the way, is a key part of the language. In GSL, the child’s name is mandatory insertion in every sentence.
“Nadie, no! Nadie, don’t touch that!”
You’ll notice repetition plays a major role. In fact, I find myself saying whatever I just said again, and whatever I just said again. Not that there isn’t room for creativity. Sometimes you can switch the pronouns around.
“Nadie, not in your mouth. NOT IN YOUR MOUTH, NADIE!”
See how easy? You don’t even have to conjugate.
Learning the rules
Now, I know I’m not alone, studying a new language later in life. We’ve all seen those commercials for Babbel or DuoLingo. They promise to have mature adults speaking French, German or Italian within weeks.
But Baby Talk you start learning within hours. In fact, as soon as that little one is placed in your arms, the new tongue kicks in, and strange sounds emit from your larynx.
“Is that a smile? Is that a smile I see? Ah-boo-boo-bop! Ah-boo-boo-bop!”
Not that everything in GSL is that easy. For one thing, in the early stages, you are mostly speaking to yourself. The infant just stares at you, the way a French taxi driver stares when you ask directions to the Louvre by pronouncing it “La lou-ver.”
But pretty quickly you learn the rules, the first of which is, if the child smiles, you got it right, and you repeat it countless times.
“You like that? You like that, don’t you? Yes, you do. Yes you do-do-do…”
Note also that the object may abruptly change. In GSL, it is common to suddenly make reference to a mysterious third person:
“Oooh, someone is stinky. Is someone stinky? Yes, someone is!”
One must also avoid multiple syllables. Anything over two won’t work. Try inserting the word “interesting” and you’ll get a blank stare. This is why all key words in GSL are two syllables or less: Bottle. Hungry. Nap time. Sleepy. Pee-pee. Poo-poo.
Words like “chaotic,” “exhausted,” “excrement” and “disgusting” have no translation.
There’s probably a reason for that.
Your wit’s end
Now, unlike other languages, GSL is more than sentence structure. It relies on enthusiasm. You can recite Italian poetry in a voice as bland as Al Franken’s. No one will care. But if you don’t bring the heat in GSL, the child will never understand you.
Imagine using a whispered tone to say, “If you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands.” It doesn’t work. Inflection is everything.
In fact, in GSL, if you sound happy enough, you can even substitute words. So you can hold up a spoonful of yucky liquid vitamins and exclaim, “This is going to taste absolutely awful!” and to the child it comes out as, “Look! Melted ice cream!”
As with Chinese, it’s all in the pronunciation.
I know. It’s a lot to take in. But pretty soon, the GSL payoff arrives. The child, now secure in the fact that you speak his or her language, begins talking back. First in single words: “Ba-ba.” (Bottle). “Wa-wa.“ (Water.) “Asus.” (Apple sauce.)
Eventually, they progress to “I want.” After that, pretty much every sentence begins with those two words:
“I want eggs!” “I want dolly!” “I want ketchup!” “I want TV!” “I want binky!” “I want Mickey Mouse!”
And just when you are at your wit’s end, the child, almost instinctively, will blurt out, “I want you, Daddy.”
And all your study will be worth it.
And you will say, “I want you, too, baby.”
And she will throw up on you.
This is merely par for the course, part of earning your new degree. And I’m certain, by Nadie’s third birthday, I will have mastered GSL completely. Which is pretty much when you stop using it. Like Puff the Magic Dragon, the language has an expiration date. Which is sad.
So if you run into me in a few years, maybe at a coffee shop, and you hear me mumbling, “Who wants cream? Does someone want cream? Yes, I do, don’t I? Yes I do!” please know I’m not crazy. I’m just keeping my chops up. An education is a terrible thing to waste.
Contact Mitch Albom: malbom@freepress.com. Check out the latest updates with his charities, books and events at MitchAlbom.com. Follow him @mitchalbom.
0 Comments