Theory of How Humans Acquired language As Inferred by my Son

I suspect every parent worries about this at one point...

"When will he/she/it learn to talk??"

My wife and i have both been concerned about this developmental milestone. We have received conflicting reports about what the "normal" age is and i think it's just really up to the child. Part of me thinks it's probably a blessing, the current absence of coherent speech, 'cause i don't think i want the Boy repeating much of what we say at this time. We don't exactly edit the profanity from our speech.

This is not the point of this blog entry though. I want to explain my theory about how we, humans, acquired the capacity to speak. Like Piaget, i am basing my whole theory on observing my child (for those who aren't aware Piaget was an amazing development psychologist who based all of his theories on observing his own children, he has yet to be disproven and is widely accepted as being spot on - much of our understanding about childhood stages of development come from him).

There are some theories out there that suggest that how humans evolved can be viewed by how children develop, especially when they develop in utero. I think that this idea can be extrapolated to other aspects of human development.

So my theory is this...

Speech, and inevitably language, came about because humans needed to complain to others about something. Complaining was the impetus to the development of speech.

I mean think about it.

If you were a preliterate human ancestor and something happened like, i don't know you ate a bad mushroom (imo they all are bad but i digress...) and got the runs, wouldn't it make sense to develop the verbal capacity to complain about it to get some sympathy or some leaves? Or to warn others via complaint how bad the mushrooms are?

Or better yet, doesn't it make sense to complain about that sabertooth tiger that keeps eating your family members?

I think complaining was the first means of communication. I mean, if something is pretty nice or tasty, you really don't need to do much more than grunt approval and others will get the message (it works for me). You really don't need much more than that.

However, if something is unsatisfactory, you would really need to articulate this point so that another will get the message/point. You would need a) speech and b) language. Otherwise, you might get misrepresented and misunderstood with a grunt. Then again, a good disapproving grunt and a thwok on another's head would probably get the same result as a verbalized complaint too. Except that the thwokee might thwok the thwoker resulting a whole mess of thwokking going on.

Thus, verbalizing complaints probably resulted in less head trauma which in turn results in smarter bipeds. To clarify, the thwokees would probably not have enough sense to escape a hungry predator since their brainpan was damaged by a good thwok and thereby preventing their genetics from fully entering the collective evolutionary stream. Forces of evolution would favor those early humans that complained rather than those that went around thwokking and get thwokked in return.

Okay. Enough. Before you decide to thwok me.

I have developed this theory because i have observed that the only time my son talks is when he has a complaint (or what appears to be a moment of distress that needs to be verbalized). I should clarify. As of this moment, he does speak, not words but the babbling verbal gobble-dee-gook of protospeak, and at other times other than complaint. His first attempts to speak were complaints as a rsult of some form of unhappiness or discomfort. His verbalizations were to be noticed and have us notice his distress.

This is not to say that if he started with some positive verbalization (which leads me to ask how would we truly know) that we would have over looked it but that negative experiences are more likely to require relief or acknowledgement of some sort. For whatever reason (and i suspect that this is also why really clean unblemsied goodguys are boring), positivity tends to be bland and unexciting. Whereas, complaints, unhappiness, and the darker side tends to be more interesting and captures the attention quicker.

Perhaps, this adds another piece of validity to my theory and helps to explain it. Since complaining was the first articulated thought or experience by early man, we presently are more likely to pay more interest in the deeper and darker expressions of humans because it is an earlier, evolutionarily older aspect of our human natures.

Cognitive thought, consciousness resulted solely because of one early hominid's complaint.

Really makes me happy to be doing the kind of work i do that's for sure.

The Brotherhood of Fatherhood

I remember one the most striking moments when my son was born. I was walking down the hall of the hospital going somewhere, i don't recall. I was wearing two plastic wristbands. The first one was to indicate that i was the Husband soon to be Dad. It was my admittance to the maternity and delivery floors. I had been told that without it i wouldn't really be allowed in. It was my hall pass.

The second wrist band was one that indicated that i was a new dad. I would get that one when my child was born. This was the really important one. If i wanted to see my baby (if he wasn't with mommy) i had to show the nurses my wrist band and they had to check it against my child's numbers. My wife had one too. Without these id wristbands we would not have been allowed to take our son home (which i understand the security of it but i wonder what actually would have happened if...?).

Anyway, as i was walking down the hall, i would notice other dads-to-be (one wrist band) and new daddies (two wrist bands).

When i would meet the eyes of the new daddies, there was always a certain recognition that would flash across their eyes. I would give a slight, masculine nod of "yeah i'm there with you" and keep walking. They always had this look that was somewhere between elation and dumbfoundedness. It is quite the picture. While i have no evidence of it, i am certain i had the same look on my face. In a brief gesture we would share a deeper understanding.

We were Fathers.

We didn't have a clue about how or what was gonna happen next.

We didn't care.

We were in a very fuzzy pinkish cloud kinda like cotton candy but more like a fizzy soda fully present but not really there. Reality had bent (but not in a Matrix kind of way). We could recognize each other 'cause we were all walking around in the same existential cloud of unknowing.

When i would look at the soon-to-bes, they hardly ever acknowledged me. I know why. I probably wouldn't have acknowledged me either. The soon-to-bes are stuck. They were caught between planes of existence. Not quite dads but not quite nonDads. They were SchrodingerDads. Lost in their heads, the anticipations, their anxieties, there fears, their hopes, i could go on.

SchrodingerDads are treated like lost puppies by the hospital staff. The sensitivity offer bordered on patronizing and they often were expected to say much or do much. Although, i suspect this depended largely on the nurses and the doctors attending the birth. I got to feel some of this patronizing attitude every so often. It wasn't glaring but it was ever so slight.

After my son was born and the euphoria crept back some and as i was walking down the hall and i determined New Dad or SchrodingerDad by wrist band, i would often want to say something encouraging to the SchrodingerDads to ease their thoughts and selfabsorption. I didn't and wouldn't. I didn't want to break the spell. I didn't want to tread into some elses cloud and private thoughts.

I wasn't there for that.

Now, like when you own or happen to drive a certain kind of car and you start noticing it on the highways and the roads all the time, i am quicker to notice fathers and the progeny. Funny thing is, some still have that cloud of pink fuzzy fizzy going on and others have that lost look as if the SchrodingersDaddyism stuck to them.

I wonder which they see on me?

"What was your Original Face before you were born?"

This is a Zen koan. It has been circling in my head for awhile now. It actually started when i first learned my wife was pregnant and we were going to have a baby. Of all the random things to run through one's head when you learn such news, this certainly took the cake (the other thought that struck right before the deep philosophical one was a more pragmatic and validating one).

I really don't fully understand it. The koan, i mean. As a point of reference, koans are not really meant to be understood anyway. They are meant to trouble the mind of the Zen practitioner to the point of distraction and then break down all logic to arrive, hopefully at some sort of enlightened state of being. Yet, even that is wrong. Koans are paradoxical mind/brain teasers.

This one kept (and keeps) running through my head.

This is why. As i tumbled the fact and reality of the news of a child, my child in my head i truly wondered "what is it going to look like?" Is it going to look like me or my wife? What color hair is it going to have? What color eyes? What about its nose?" All these, and more, thoughts nagged my brain.

My brain kept coming back to this koan.

I had no way of knowing what my child would look like. I didn't even know if it was going to be a boy or a girl at first. I didn't know what i was hoping for either. This was so incredibly new and surprising that i was just trying to grasp its ineffibleness. Which is probably why my brain zappd itself with a koan.

The distinct attack of reality was so unreal to me. Now, mind you, i was greatly relieved. I suspect most guys would be relieved to know that progeny are possible (this was my first thought - although in not so many words). As the reality dust settled, the existential imponderable abstractions got stirred up with this question riding in front. I mean, what was my child going to look like? What were they going to be like? There was no way to actually know.

I'm not certain that this even comes close to the intent of this koan but it has left my cognitions in a jumbled state. Now, currently, my son is almost 9 months old. His face and resemblence is very much like me when i was a child. Actually, he is mix of both my wife and me. Each of us shows up in different light and different occasions on his face. This makes his face his own.

His presence in my life is some way an answer to the koan but, like all answers to koans, it is not really the answer that could be expected. I could not ever have imagined his face as it is now and at the same time, it is exactly the face i was anticipating.

See?

Paradoxical.

Answers to koan are notorious for not making any sense at all. The answer to this one still leaves me in awe.

The Chronicles of Mistah Mom (Week 1)

When my wife returned to work, i decided to utilize the new Family Leave Act to stay home with my son, the Notorious HFG, for 12 weeks. I had posted on FB these daily updates about the experience being a stay at home dad, aka Mistah Mom. On this blog between other regular entries, i will put them up for all to read and remember those days. Here's Week One (FYI - HFG is my son, Big D my cat, Little D my wife's cat):

The Chronicles of Mistah Mom: Day One Down; MommaGee watched HFG as our intrepid Mistah braved the elements to collect some paperwork, dodged Gaggles of Geriatric Grocers in the local s-mart, and barely tolerated the slowest deli man ever to slice cheeses. Yes, the Mistah survived to be a Mom another day. What adventures are in store for tomorrow?

The Chronicles of Mr. Mom, Day Two: No adventures in Geriatric Grocers today, just a goodly day of happy HFG, visited by all G-parents. The Highlight (so far, the day is not done)? Watching "Dead Snow" (again, first time was interrupted several times) with HFG asleep on my shoulder and the Big D curled up in my lap. Life doesn’t get better than zombies, a big purrin’ furball, and my sleepin’ boy.

Addendum to the Chronicles: Watching the HFG attempt to roll over to the delight of all - and making "dolphin" noises all the while. My son has a sense of porpoise.

The Chronicles of Mistah Mom, Day Three: I feel like i've been chasing a stray sock ALL FREAKIN' DAY! I have a thought for Crisis Management Training: while having to urinate badly, change a diaper while the baby pees a jet stream on a recently changed outfit AND decides to spit a substantial amount of lunch up that begins to pool under his head as your cell phone rings and then the house phone follows...

CoMM D. 3, Highlight of the Night: The HFG was kind of mellow after much stimuli from my nephew's b-day party until Jenny and i sang (yes, folks, i now sing to a select audience) the "Bathtime Song," heralding the event that followed the song. He just lit up and got a happy - which lasted, of course, until we had to take him out of the bath.

Chronicles of Mistah Mom, Day Four: HFG spent a large portion of his day with the G-Parents Gee whilst Mistah Mom went on a scavenger hunt to return and exchange some clothes. The Highlight? I suppose, shortly after my Mom said, "Oh what a cute outfit..." (indeed it was), he destroyed the outfit in one fell poop. I am trying not to read too much into this – not ALL behavior has meaning (i hope).

Chronicles of Mistah Mom, Day Five: First, it was A ONE OUTFIT DAY!!! (amazing what only one week, errr 5 days of domesticity makes me happy about) - Went for a long, long walk (saw ten Robins hanging in one yard - not auditions for Batman); Managed to handle the HFG mostly by myself today... Reinforcements came after the walk (GrandmaBee came so i could read three days worth of newspapers)...

The Travails of the HFG: Putting clothes on him today was like wrestling a wildebeast crossed with an octopus. When he gets squirmy like this, i tend to end up with more stuff like Aquaphor on me than on him. Thankfully, that's all i end up with on me.

On the Next Chronicles of Mistah Mom: Naps and Walks and Ways to Amuse an Infant!