It’s a parent’s right to NOT understand his child’s secret language. Even if he suspects he knows what that child is actually saying.
In the same vein, my children are expected to understand everything I say. All the time.
I know this may sound unfair, especially to my children, but hear me out:
I am older than they are.
I know more things than they do.
For instance, I can easily recite the lyrics to “The Beverly Hillbillies” and “Mr. Ed” and “Gilligan’s Island” and sing with near-tone perfect accuracy the themes to “The Three Stooges” (and yes, there were a few themes — usually when Shemp or Joe replaced Curly — like us kids were too stupid to notice when they changed it!)
I am FAR more experienced at chatting and typing and speaking and writing, back when “chatting” meant enunciating OUT LOUD and “writing” meant using an actual pencil and paper (and I’ll thank you NOT to refer to those implements as “charcoal and papyrus” — you’ll be older one day, too. Unless you meet with an unfortunate “accident” after one of your sass-backs.)
I have been communicating since I can remember — and, yes, smart guy, I remember farther back than last night when I told you for the 4th time to put the garbage out to th…[oops!]
Sorry.
I don’t intend for this to get personal. It’ll never happen again.
So, how am I to process this teenage language gem, mutated from some form of actual English? Ready? It goes something like this.:
“So…yeah.”
That’s it. Two words. They say nothing and yet they say everything.
This phrase is usually used after a rather LONG and DRAWN OUT “explanation” for why said child needs or deserves something. Like more money for their allowance. Or to be driven somewhere. Or, like more money for their allowance.
TEEN: “Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, BLAH, blah-bi-di blah. And besides, blah-bi-di-blah-blah, blah blah blahblah [note a TWO-SYLLABLE word!] Blah blah-bi-di-blah MORE ALLOWANCE.”
ME: [a stoic gaze — in (more or less) their GENERAL direction]
TEEN: “So….?”
ME: (See above)
TEEN: “So…., yeah.”
By the time they say this, it’s too late. How do you follow up that stinger?
If you say ANYthing after these two words (except, “You Betcha!”) YOU ARE THE BAD GUY! Trust me on this! You don’t dare say, “How’s that again?” or “What do you mean?” because hell will rain on you like telemarketing calls at dinner time.
I know the brain folk’s explanation of the physiology behind this phenomenon: something having to do with the adolescent mind still in a sort of flux between formulating strong and more mature synapses and associations.
But NONE of that matters when they say those two words: “So…yeah.”
I’m like, [shaking fist in air] “CURSE YOU, DR. BRAIN-SYNAPSES!! TELL ME HOW TO RESPOND!??” It’s as if the child has mind-melded me into some sort of speechless stupor, only to discover later that I’ve been standing in the same spot for 40 minutes.
WIFE: “What are you doing?”
ME: “Hunh? Thinking.”
WIFE: “Why are you holding your wallet open?”
ME: “I’m not sure. I need some time to gather my thoughts.”
WIFE: “I can spare a few seconds, that’ll give you enough time to wrangle in both of them. So, tell me, “#1 Dad”, is all of your cash gone? Again??”
ME: “Well, you see….blah, blah, blah-bi-di-blah-blah-blah…”
WIFE: [Nothing. Not even a hint of movement in those stone-cold eyes…]
I’m left with nothing but a faded memory from my halcyon days, a tried and true secret language I learned, deftly used, then forgot, then remembered, if only too late…
ME: “….Blah-bi-di-boobih-di-EMPTIED MY WALLET….
So….yeah.”
DanielnotDan 