My mother loves to recount the tale of two-year old me standing up during a screening of The Black Stallion in a Salt Lake City movie theater and screaming “Hore, mommy, hore!” at the top of my lungs. Oh the shame that story has brought. Every time she tells it.
Which is often.
Like, she’s probably telling it right now, wherever she might be.
Alexander, our little tot-sized troublemaker, puts me to shame. He’s two-years old (don’t ask me months–I stopped counting months after his first birthday) and verbal, which would be great if he didn’t forget important letters or emphasize certain sounds when he speaks. We try to correct him, but some of it just doesn’t process.
I like to think of our family as being accepting, tolerant, and sensitive. Sadly, if you listen to my son talk, we are a racist, slur spouting group. To avoid building that reputation, please refer to the following translations when speaking to our son.
The Alexander Riley Slur to Actual Meaning Translator
He Says: “Crackr”
To the Untrained Ear It Sounds Like: “Cracka”
He Means: Anything making a crumpling noise that might contain food, including a person.
He Says: “Joo”
To the Untrained Ear It Sounds Like: “Jew”
He Means: Juice
He Says: “Mik”
To the Untrained Ear It Sounds Like: “Mick”
He Means: Milk
He Says: “Hompo”
To the Untrained Ear It Sounds Like: “Homo”
He Means: Hippo
He Says: “Crowk”
To the Untrained Ear It Sounds Like: “Cock”
He Means: Truck
So should you meet my son and he greets you with, “Want Jew?” and then tries to show you his, “Cock,” it’s okay to say yes.
PS. Generation Cake is on Facebook! Make sure to Like the new page. It makes kittens and puppies instantly fall in love you. Really.