Raga and OE

When I was little, R was a letter that escaped my speaking grasp. I was Wobert, a bugs bunny wily wabbit, until I spent time under the tutelage of Mrs. Jensen. I can only guess that some were a bit saddened to see the wabbit leave.

And so it has been for my son in watching his nephew and niece in their progression from seedlings to small trees. While he is their biggest cheerleader, full of applause for each step they take on their journey there is a bit of wistfulness for what gets left in the rearview mirror.

Raga was what he was called as our granddaughter, his niece, put in her first claims on the English language. She spoke at a young age and her uncle's name, at least her version of it, was one of the earliest words she conquered. Of course, Raga was not even a rough approximation of his actual moniker, but I don't think, for my son, there was anything sweeter than hearing that tiny person calling out for her uncle with the very strange sounding given name.

So when the day arrived where Raga disappeared and was replaced by mere orthodoxy, I fear my son was a teeny bit heartbroken. And now, a few years later, I would venture that my granddaughter might not even recall how she swelled her uncle's heart with but a mere mispronunciation.

The second in line is well on the way to mastering the complete range of sounds required to  communicate with full effectiveness. But until this week I had never heard him say his older sister's name correctly. You see, the first syllable was so cluttered with consonants at the beginning that a young brain could not even attempt to attack them. Thus, up to this point, his older sister had been, once and always, merely OE (spoken as if rapidly reciting these two letters of the alphabet).

So when we heard that jumble of letters now all appear, with perfect precision, there was much excitement. A job well done. Another milestone reached.

But, as with Raga, my son both praised the gain and lamented the loss. There is something so innocent, so pure, in Raga and OE. A slice of childhood now surrendering to the march of time. Adulthood seemingly just around the bend.

Thus, I beg you forgive the trespass, but I am sure my son, as well as I, hope one day in the future, when it is wholly unexpected, Raga and OE return. Just for a moment. Just for a smile and a tug of the heart.