Dad in Training: My son called me "fat."

"El-phan"

Am I doing it wrong? It's a question, dripping with guilt, that I'm sure hangs threateningly over most every decision, action and reaction we make as parents. Hang around me long enough (anytime over 10 minutes will do) and I'll admit to you that our son Peter is already an awesome kid, and on a day-by-day basis, I'm basically just trying not to screw him up.

And so, as the stay-at-home dad, I usually--sometime after mom comes home and has a great time with the same kid who I, not 40 minutes ago, barked at for splashing the dogs water out of the bowl--in a quiet moment, kind of hate myself for losing my mind earlier. Over what? A 20-month old splashing some water around the kitchen floor (which could probably use a little washing anyway)? Unfortunately, as my son fast approaches his 2nd birthday, feelings of worry and doubt started way back and do not look to be letting up anytime...ever.

In the beginning, too soon after the pure, deafening joy of my son's birth, I thought, "I don't think I spoke and sung to him enough when he was in utero." And I never, NOT ONCE, played him any Mozart through headphones pressed against Sarah's belly. As it turns out, according to Dr. Deborah Campbell, director of neonatology at The Children's Hospital at Montefiore not only is there no good evidence that you can in fact craft a baby genius by such technique, adding more noise to an already noisy womb, by way of loud speakers, is probably not a great idea. So PHEW!

"Gi-tar!"

Content in the knowledge that my quietly sung and thoroughly ridiculous made-up "I love you little
guy you're awesome" songs combined with early Tom Waits (see I am cool!) and Glee cast albums (see I am...uhm...) on road trips, I have moved on to other worries.

Namely language acquisition and development. I recall from a Developmental Psychology or Cognitive Science class I took in the way-way back at Vassar College, that an infant's brain is overflowing with almost limitless potential. But if you wait too long, the baby's brain will have "pruned" itself and will no longer be able to distinguish some of the subtle and almost imperceptible (to us) differences in, for example, some Asian language sounds. I haven't googled, or searched my old textbooks for a definitive answer, because I already suspect, and do not particularly want to be reminded, that because of me, my son will likely never speak perfect Mandarin.

And so, using the "better than nothing" theory of parenting, I sometimes speak and read to him in the only other language I sort of know. German. Despite the country's position as one of the world's most important, learning it's language is decidedly less so. No matter, we still count numbers in the elevator (I also add Spanish and mom remembers her HS French), I sing the alphabet to him with my best Teutonic accent. Knives and forks are also das Messer und die Gabel at Mittagsessen.

One particular day, I thought I must also teach him the German word for father. Right, duh? "Der Vater" or the more cuddly version, "Vati." In German the "V" is pronounced more like an "F" and so "daddy" will sound more like "fah-tee." Peter picks up new words at an alarming rate. And add to that the general rules of toddler verbal truncation, and Peter had both his mother and I laughing out loud when he pointed and called me "fat." Lesson learned. We'll stick with "da-DEE" for now.

Powers of keen observation (I'm working out and eating less), Mandarin language and grown-up cup drinking deficiencies aside, Peter continues to amaze us every day and excels in the field which to me matters most. Recently Peter has been, with outstretched arms, asking for "fa-huh" and "fa-ki." It's a "language lesson" we started early on in his life and I plan on subjecting him to "fa-huh" and "fa-ki" well past the time he stops asking for them. Because there is absolutely and truly nothing better in the world then when your son asks for a "family hug" or "family kiss." So moms and dads, if you ever wonder if you are doing it right, I can assure you that if you smother your kids with hugs and kisses and love, you are. You are doing it very right.