Toddler language skills are fascinating, but the more memorable moments are those strange words or phrases that they invent. Some are short lived, like when Besh insisted on calling her Mary Popsins for the first few days of watching the movie. Others persist a bit longer, like his current answer when his teachers ask him if he’s proud of something he’s just accomplished he always gleefully replies, “I’m am!”
But one of my favorites is no longer with us. Let us remember the happy life of Gokers.
Besh started had his first words at the typical age, but his vocabulary quickly exploded. The last time we tried to count how many words he knew was shortly before he was 18 months and he had over 300 words. This was before that time, but I don’t recall exactly when. Words were still very new, as was the whole concept of communicating with Mommy and Daddy with those words.
One day I came home from work to find Besh sitting on our bed with Mommy, crying over something.
“Are you hungry?” Mommy asked.
“Y-y-y-es!” he insisted between sobs.
“What would you like?”
“Gokers!”
“I…I don’t know what those are!”
“Gokers! Gokers!” (Apparently the notion that if you repeat yourself loudly you can make someone else understand is in our genes and is not acquired whenever an American visits a country that doesn’t speak English.)
“Can you tell Mommy what’s a Goker?”
Besh just cried. Figuring we had nothing to lose, I grabbed Besh.
“Oh, you want Gokers, Besh?” I asked. He nodded. “Okay, let’s go get some Gokers!”
“But…what if we don’t have any Gokers?” asked the perpetual Jewish mother. Figuring if we didn’t we’d have the same meltdown anyway, I just took Besh into the kitchen and opened the fridge.
“Is this a Goker?” I asked, pointing to some pickles.
“No!” he yelled.
“Are these Gokers?” Pointing at some Wheat Thins.
“No!”
It went on for a bit, but then I pointed at something else.
“What about this? Are these Gokers?”
“Yes!” he sniffled, exasperated with his mentally challenged father. “Gokers! Gokers!”
“Oh, Gokers! Of course these are Gokers!”
Identified, I put some in a snack cup with a lid and took him back to the bedroom. Then I showed Mommy what exactly was a Goker: a Goldfish Cracker.
While Besh’s fascination with eating Gokers has waxed and waned over the years, the word remained the same. Until earlier this week when I asked him if he wanted a snack.
“Want some Gokers, Besh?”
“No, Daddy. Not Gokers, Goldfish,” he corrected.
“You’re right, they’re Goldfish.”
But you know what? They aren’t. They’re Gokers. I got him some anyway.
