It was Easter evening, and my nephew Ezra lay on a blanket unattended, for the room was full of family. I descended to him and began to watch him, and this is what I learned.
Ezra is an intelligent child. There were times during that interview when I was sure that he was speaking, only without English words. And then the questions materialized: what does he have to say? what is he thinking about? how does he think? That these questions can even be worth asking shows just what a wondrous, precious creation an infant is. I’m now immensely curious to come to know babies. They’re fascinating.
I learned a little bit about parenting, too. I have seen a great many folks coo and giggle and gurgle or talk nonsense to babies as though it made sense to them . . .
One question rises in my mind at this: how can that make more sense to a baby than English. If babies do indeed think and speak in the funny language that sounds so much like gurgling and half-words, do folks honestly think that they can speak it also. And if a baby does not think and speak in said language, and thus can find comfort in these soothing sounds which seem to come from one whom he knows is too old for this, why not talk to him in soft, beautiful English, and thus comfort him as well as expose him to the language which he, too, will one day speak. But what do I know. I’m no mother; I’m not even a father, just a lousy uncle. (No offense intended toward the non-lousy uncles in the world. I speak against myself, alone.)
. . . But as I was saying before this digression, much of this activity have I seen. And I, disagreeing with it (perhaps also for some less idealistic reasons than I have put forth here), as you can see, have opted for silence instead. Hence I chose to stare at Ezra instead of to “talk” to him. This struck me as rude. For one thing, why should it be any less rude to stare at a baby in his presence than to stare at a grown person. That I even thought it acceptable at first to do so with Ezra appalled me.
Another thing: what good can it do. As long as I’m taking his time, why shouldn’t I talk good, sensible words of wisdom or at least share some interesting anecdote. Youths, as I tend all too often to example, are hard of hearing. Why not take all the available opportunities to teach while he cannot help but listen.
These are a few things which entered my mind as I watched him, and perhaps there were more, but I have forgotten. I talked with my sisters about it later, and I learned some wisdom which will be helpful in time to come, but it doesn’t really fit with my point here.
