The First Time Again
2009.09.18. 16:54
Living in a foreign country provides the opportunity to revisit feelings and sensations that have long since faded into the distant past.
As young parents we have all experienced the helpless feeling that sweeps over us when we struggle to interpret the cacophony of cries emanating from the mouth of our newborn. Check the diaper – dry. Bottle? Pacifier? Rocking chair? Music? Lay her down. Pick her up. What do you want? Why are you crying? What are you trying to tell me?
I recall a frosty winter night not so long ago. The cries of Katerina, our first daughter, woke me from a pleasant dream. My wife and I, given our catatonic state, mechanically proceeded through the previously successful list of well-conceived remedies guaranteed to stop a baby’s cries in two minutes or less. On this particular occasion, however, these strategies had little effect. In fact, they appeared to exacerbate the situation. We desperately struggled to formulate a creative solution. Warm the blanket in the dryer? Change her outfit? Leave her on the doorstep of a neighbor? After hours of her constant wailing we arrived at the conclusion that something was definitely amiss. Weighing our options, we decided that a treacherous trip on a frozen highway to the emergency room was a far better choice than going absolutely, utterly and completely insane. We dressed ourselves in our warmest parkas, donned the snow boots, scarves and gloves and then turned our attention to the howling being that was once our daughter. After struggling to squeeze her into the miniature snow suit we reached for the blue cap knitted by her great grandmother and placed it gently upon her head. Instantaneous silence. The kind of silence one encounters in the early morning after a heavy snowfall. That shrieking creature who mere moments ago had me contemplating pouring hot wax into my ears had been transformed into the most peaceful and serene cherub. From that moment on the magical blue knit cap remained within easy reach.
I recall this traumatic event not to illustrate the perils and pitfalls of parenting but to imagine the frustration of an infant unable to communicate his most basic wants and needs. The ability to effectively communicate ones desires certainly must be a remarkably gratifying achievement in the early life of a child. Unfortunately, I like most individuals was much too young to recall this early milestone. However, I have had the opportunity to revisit a similar satisfaction of knowing that the message I was sending was not only received but also, understood.
Before obtaining a car I needed to utilize the bus as my primary means of transportation. Across the street from the bus stop was a small newsstand that also served as a convenient location to purchase bus tickets. Given that the shopkeeper spoke little English and I knew even less Hungarian I had to resort to creative ways to communicate. Feeling much like that young child who cries and hopes for an individual who can translate those shouts into meaning, I pointed out a passing bus and initiated an entertaining if not effective game of charades. I can only imagine what the woman was thinking. She more than likely knew what I wanted within the first few moments but only wanted to prolong my agony for her own amusement. Eventually I had my ticket, she had her fun and I was on my way. The following morning I could now use my ticket as a graphic aid and my fingers to signify the number of tickets I desired. Knowing she no longer had an excuse to request another award winning performance, the shopkeeper reluctantly granted my wish. Although I was somewhat satisfied I knew that I couldn’t always rely on “realia” to communicate my desires. Would I have to carry a loaf of bread, a liter of milk and a bag of tomatoes with me each time I set out for the supermarket? And if I had these items with me, why would I need to purchase them? No, I would have to begin to learn the language. That evening I studied and rehearsed the magical utterance that would finally enable me to be understood. The following day, as I approached the newsstand, I removed my “cheat sheet” from my pocket and reviewed it one last time. When I delivered those words and recognized that the message had been received I was filled with a wonderful feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction. For a brief moment I had revisited that sensation long since forgotten that comes when a young child’s first utterances are received and understood.
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