a reply to: skunkape23
I clearly remember my first words, and my first conversation with my mother. We had recently moved house, so I would have been about two and a half to
three years of age. It was a freezing cold day, snow, sleet and hail taking turns to assault the house we had moved into. Icicles hung from every edge
of the outside of the house, and indeed all the other houses in the street, and after an hour of steady, heavy snow, the ground became thick with the
white stuff. All of this I saw from the living room window, as I perched upon a moving box, that I had shuffled into position to allow me a better
I should explain that up until this day, I had never spoken a word, never uttered even an attempt at language beyond the training burbles of the
first two years. In fact, I had become markedly quieter, to the point where my mother was concerned that I might be deaf!
In any case, my mother walked into the room behind me, and I turned around to see that she was watching me, watch the snow. I got down from my perch,
walked over to her, and pointed at the buggy that she would push me around in. I spake thusly "Beach, buggy, walk!".
While mothers flabber was officially ghasted, I clambered into my coat and put a hat on, and my mother wept a bit, smiling the whole time, and after
she had donned her own coat and hat, and put little mittens on my hands, down to the beach we went. The sands were covered in snow, and it was so cold
that the point where the sea meets the shore was frozen solid, the crests of waves unbroken hung frozen before the shore, as if time had halted for
them just before impact with the land.
I remember that so vividly, much more so than the sketchy memories from before we moved. That frozen vista is locked within my mind, as firmly as the
conversation which lead to me seeing it. A year later, my mother asked me why I had not spoken before that incident, and I told her "I had nothing to