Children Say the Cutest Things, Usually

When my son Cannaday began talking he was so cute. He was 15 months old when he said “book.”  The way he puckered his lips when he spoke was as if he was kissing the air. His voice was sweet, high pitched, and melodic. By the time he was 2 years old, his vocabulary increased but he had trouble pronouncing the “tr” sound. Words with “tr” sounds, Cannaday pronounced like an “f.” If we were in the park and he noticed a tree he would point from his stroller and say, “Fee. Fee Mommy, Fee,” and I’d gently reply, “Yes baby tree; that’s a tree.” If we were watching a train pass he’d shout, “Fain! Fain, Mommy, fain” and I’d say, “Yes baby train; that’s a train.” For Cannaday, recognizing an object he could say for the first time was super exciting, like finding the prize inside a cereal box.

One day. I was pushing Cannaday in a shopping cart towards the checkout lanes in K-Mart. It was a week day afternoon but the store was crowded. Every lane had at least 5 people in line.  I pushed our cart to one of the shorter lanes and took Cannaday out to stretch his legs. “Stand next to Mommy,” I said. Cannaday looked up at me with his big bright eyes, and then started jumping and moving his feet as if he was testing out new shoes. I was looking over our items in the cart, mentally adding up my bill, when all of a sudden I heard a child’s voice shout, “Fuck! Fuck Mommie, Fuck!” The young voice shouted this several times. I gasped and prayed that wasn’t my child saying that. 

Before I could look around to see where Cannaday was, I felt the heat from the other customers’ stares as they glared at me with disapproval. I held my breath in my throat, afraid to swallow the reality of what was happening. Cannaday had never cursed before, and we didn’t curse at home. But I recognized his sweet melodic voice. I turned around and saw my innocent little 2-year old son standing behind me with an inquisitive look on his face. He said, “Fuck Mommie,” and pointed to something behind him. 

Desperately, I was hoping there was an explanation, one that would redeem us from the rising disdain from the other shoppers. I looked where he was pointing, and there I saw a large display of trucks. It was a wall of yellow Tonka trucks, massively displayed 4 to 5 shelves high. Cannaday had never seen such a glorious display of yellow trucks before, and neither had I, because in that moment, the display was an answer to my quickly uttered prays of redemption as a good mother. I bent down to Cannaday and said in a proud voice loud enough for all to hear, “Yes baby TRUCK; that’s a TRUCK.” I could feel and hear the relief from the other shoppers too. Sounds of “ohh,” ahhh,” and slight chuckles were expressed as I lifted Cannaday up into my arms.

Cannaday (2.5yrs old) in his Tonka truck

From Tina's journal 2009