As I've spent the last few weeks chasing my speedster-crawling daughter around the house, I've come to realize that she might very well be a caveman. Witness: She communicates with guttural sounds and fist-banging gestures (sometimes using wooden spoons and toys for emphasis). Imagine, if you will, this conversation: "Hey, Willow." "Heh." "Did you have a nice nap?" "Heh." A scowl starts to creep across her face. "What's wrong, baby girl?" "Heh!" Then she starts banging, loudly, on the crib railing. "Heh! Heh!" She likes to gnaw on everything. Anything. I imagine cavemen were like today's adolescent sharks; they had to bite on everything to figure out if it was food. Take the above conversation example. Willow might very well follow a "heh!" with squeak-squeak-squeak gnawing on the crib railing. Willow stares dumbfounded at light sources. When Willow and I enter a room and I flip on...
A father's journey to finding the right words.