Years ago, in West Virginia, we had wonderful next-door neighbors with kids about the same ages as ours. Their youngest, Kristen, had the remarkable and delightful tendency to mishear words and phrases.
One day she came to our door and announced, “My mom has to run to the store. She says if we need any trouble, we should come to you.”
Another time, at our front door, she invited our daughters to go to the movies. “You can come too,” she added, “but I think it’ll cost you more ’cause you’re a dolt.”
“I’m a what?” I asked.
“A dolt,” she explained with exaggerated patience. “You know — I’m a child; you’re a dolt.”
As I stepped out onto our deck one day, Kristen ran over, all excited. “Did you know that you have a bush named after your daughter? That one with the yellow flowers all over it is called forcynthia!”
As Kristen’s birthday approached, I asked if there was any gift she particularly wanted. “Yes!” came the instant reply. “I want a market set.” I pictured a toy grocery cart, plastic vegetables, little replicas of canned goods — but thought it wise to ask what a “market set” looked like.
She replied, “I don’t know. I’ve never seen one. But when the big kids go out in the field to have races, they yell, ‘On your market set, go!’ I need one so I can play with them.”
That birthday was particularly important, Kristen explained, because it meant she was almost old enough to be a troll. Warily, I asked just what these older trolls did. “They stand out in the street in front of the school and hold out their arms, and the cars stop. My brother Perry is one. He’s a safety troll.”
The neighbors had a swing set in their backyard, and one day I spotted Kristen swinging vigorously and singing loudly. The tune was familiar but I couldn’t quite catch the words, so I walked closer and heard, “Little Jack Horner, I don’t care!”
The kids from our two families were having a picnic on our deck one summer day when they got talking about what they’d just learned at their respective Vacation Bible Schools. “Did you know that nobody knows the name of God?” asked Perry.
“That’s silly!” piped up Kristen. “God’s name is Harold. We say it in a prayer every week: ‘Our father, who art in heaven. Harold be thy name.’ ” And as she unwrapped a little chocolate-and-peanut-butter candy, she informed me that they were her favorites–“Greasy Cups.”
Shortly after that, our neighbors shared the news that they were about to have an addition to their family. They were adopting a small Korean orphan girl. That, I thought, was fantastic. What a great family this child would be entering.
I had just one reservation, though: The youngster would be learning English from Kristen!
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