Standing
at the end of the aisle in the department store, I heard loud noises from
someone coming closer. “Woo who, boo boo, waahhh waahhh.”
The
weird sounds were coming from a lady walking down the aisle. And the closer she
got to me, the louder her babbling became. She looked to be 60 something, and the
younger woman following close behind her I assumed to be the older lady’s 20
something daughter. “Poor lady,” I thought. “She must have some disability and
is unable to control her voice. Or perhaps she’s mentally challenged, and the caring
daughter is taking her mom shopping.
Then
I noticed the daughter was wearing one of those forward-facing-out baby
carriers. Only the baby wasn't in it. Taking a second look at the lady talking
gibberish, I could see she was looking down at something. Sure enough, the lady wasn't speech impaired, nor was she mentally unstable. She was just talking to
her grand-baby in the stroller that had been hidden from my view.
When
we hear someone in a public place unashamedly jabbering, we are likely to
conclude that person either has a diminished mental capacity or is simply
obnoxious. But with a baby there, the person suddenly becomes a normal, loving
parent or grandparent communicating with a child.
Most
of us who have spent any time in the presence of an infant have talked in those
baby tones. After a Sunday morning worship service, I might start speaking in
another language if my daughter, Madi, brings my eight month old grandson, Eli,
from the church nursery to me.
“Hoothcie, gootchie, goo,” I say to him while tickling
his chin. It doesn't bother me that some of the people to whom I've just
preached are standing close to me. In fact, they join me in the baby babble. In
a less formal public setting--- our Wednesday night fellowship meal---I've actually
sung a line to Eli from one of his favorite tunes, the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse
“Hot Dog” song. I somehow transition from mouthing, “Hot dog/hot dog/ hot
diggety dog” to teaching my Bible study on the book of Revelation. It’s the
only time my congregation let’s me sing solo; a giggling Baby Eli makes it
okay.
.
In
the presence of an infant we can discard our roles and titles: “Student,
administrative assistant, Dr., CEO, teacher, manager,” and become a kid for a
moment. As long as the baby is there, we’re fine. Otherwise, our sanity would likely
be in question.
And
here’s something else: Some research seems to indicate that this infant
directed talk is not only fun for adults but healthy for the baby. It’s subject
to debate, but some scientists contend that baby directed speech can help lay
the foundation for language development. Engaging in this form of communication
can enhance the infant’s ability to understand and learn, some believe.
Repeating those “goo goo” and gaa gaa,” sounds back to the child, and even
using a playful voice while enunciating them, can help babies learn sounds.
I’m glad my “cootchie
cootchie coos” might help Eli’s language development. But that’s not why I talk
like that to him. It’s a way I can enter into his world---connecting,
communicating, and loving him.
Maybe it’s in
our DNA to do that; it seems to come naturally. Infant directed speech appears
cross culturally, although not universally.
Then again,
perhaps we learned it from a higher source. The Protestant reformer, Martin
Luther, is supposed to have said that when God speaks to us, he speaks in baby
talk. I suppose Luther meant God bends down to our level because we are
helpless to know him unless he finds a way to communicate with us. Like a baby
to an adult, we are dependent on God to stoop to us if we are to hear from him.
It’s a movement
of love. And that’s reason enough for me to play the fool, cooing, oohing, and
ahhing my way into the baby’s world, loving him into a relationship where we
know and understand each other better and better the more we talk and listen to
one another.
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