We sat cross-legged on the living room carpet, our chins resting on our fists, staring up at the Zenith. “Look,” Shannon said. “It’s the Frinstones.”
Without hesitation, I assumed the role of pronunciation cop for my much younger neighbor. “Flintstones,” I said, emphasizing the “L” sound.
“Flintstones,” Shannon repeated. I immediately regretted my intervention. How much cuter my four-year-old friend’s mispronunciation sounded. And what, after all, was the harm?
Indeed, my daughter and I still lapse into in our language when we’re together, much to my husband’s irritation. Evidently, listening to adult women conversing like babies can grate on one’s nerves. He made me promise to limit our momandkid-speak to times when he is not present.
So I understood Kristen’s reluctance to begin working with her seven-year-old son to correct his speech when it had become an impediment to his progress in reading. Continue reading