Balls and Rambo: how I became the greatest father ever

In case you didn’t pay attention to the title, this post was written by my husband, Brian. Although I approve of the general aspiration to be the greatest father ever, I don’t feel the need to acquire that accolade myself. Instead, I married the best prospect I could find and won the jackpot. Read on and take notes. 

What Ray looks like when Dad's in charge.

Ray is 20 months old… or something close to that. She is between one and two years old, but closer to two than one (this is one of those things that all mothers know by heart, but I break into a sweat and need a calculator, calendar, and birth certificate to figure out). At some point 3 or 4 months ago she began to look like a kid who should be talking, but she wasn’t. According to several reputable websites and a few less than reputable mom blogs that popped up on a Google search, she should be talking. Hannah and I weren’t really all that worried because even though she wasn’t talking she was communicating... a little too much sometimes. 

Through a series of grunts and pointing, she is usually able to help us understand what she wants to eat or what forbidden object she would like to play with. She is quite effective at expressing her emotions, usually in extreme forms, and she reads mine well too. "That face means I should run to mommy now."

With each passing day I was getting a little more concerned about her lack of words. I would try to get her to say ‘dog’ or ‘truck,’ the two most attention grabbing objects in the world for her. Instead she has her own utterance for each and laughs at me when I say ‘truck’. "No, Dad, that’s not a ‘truck’ it’s a ‘DOOOOOH’. Obviously."

Well it finally happened. On Friday while working in the office, Hannah called and said Ray finally uttered her first word. "What was it?" I asked wondering if it could be ‘fan’ (something she loves to point at and dance under in her own version of pagan worship), or ‘phone’ (one of her more favorite forbidden objects), or ‘llama’ (her favorite book character). 

"She said ball."

"...what? She doesn’t even like balls."

It’s true she doesn’t. She prefers her giant Lego’s or blocks or books to balls any day. I mean, she is a girl. 

So as soon as I came home for lunch I sat down with the book that she identified a ball in and asked her, "What’s this?" 

Her reply was a clear and unmistakable "BALL!" and she was quite pleased with herself. So there it is, my little girl’s first word is ‘ball’. 

We have friends who have a boy a little younger than Ray. He is also between one and two, but closer to one. So let’s say he is 16 months. He has been saying ball since before he was born. Any object that is vaguely round elicits a "Ball?" The little man can’t say the word without it being a question. What he is trying to say is, "That looks like a ball, can I play with it?"

"Well, yes, technically the sun, which you are pointing to now, is a ball. But no, you can’t play with it. For starters it’s really hot."

It feels right for a boy’s first word to be ‘ball’. It’s just proper. There is something in the Y chromosome that just drives us to balls. I’m pretty sure that if there was some kind of international study it would show that the word for ‘ball’ in whatever language is the first word for something like 85% of all boys. Now for a girl, it’s just a little weird. I can’t think of a word that should be a girl’s first word, but that’s just because women are complicated. Boys are easy, our fascination goes from balls to trucks to fire. Simple progression. 

Ray uttered her first word on Friday. On the following Sunday we went to church. After the service we were outside talking with people (international rule of church) and Ray was in the arms of a woman who lived near the church. Ray was transfixed by the handful of dogs running around. One of the dogs came trotting over to his master, the woman holding Ray. This got quite a few squeals of delight from Ray. The woman pointed to the dog and said, “His name is Rambo.” Rambo is a cultural icon in PNG. If I had a nickel for every time someone asked me “How is Rambo doing?” we would be self-supported.

Ray’s next utterance cemented my place in the fatherhood hall of fame right next to that guy who shot the apple off his kid’s head (the criteria for admittance into the fatherhood hall of fame are quite distinct from those for the motherhood hall of fame... obviously). She pointed to the dog and said, "MmmmBooooh." That’s right my daughter’s second word was 'Rambo'. She then followed it up by pointing to another dog and loudly proclaiming, "MmmmmmBoooooh." My heart swelled with pride. 

That night I was catching up with a friend who lives in another part of the country. I told him about my daughter’s vocabulary. He looked at me and said, "I think you are winning at parenting. The only thing that would be more impressive is if her third word is ‘rocket propelled grenade’."

We’re going to try for RPG. It’s simpler.