My First Word
Mood:  silly
Now Playing: Benise
I know many of you will find this hard to believe, but I didn’t speak a word until I was three years old. Not a single intelligible word. No ‘mom’, ‘puppy’, ‘dad’, ‘hotdog’, etc. I had a bastard language all my own and my older sister, Lindsay, acted as my personal interpreter to the world. I would say “shub zah toodag blu” and Lindsay would get a pained look on her face and sigh heavily before translating “Mom, Megan wants a hot dog with extra ketchup.” (The only way I eat hot dogs still to this day).

Needless to say, this caused some consternation to my folks and to my grandparents. Namely my mom’s parents, Gramps and Grams Keyes. I was put through a battery of tests to determine if I was deaf, slow, really slow, autistic, insane, etc. Grams was just certain that I was mentally retarded and urged mom to have me put in ‘the home’ many a time. Kind of held that against the old broad for part of my life, but I digress.

Our family doctor explained that there was nothing physically or mentally wrong with me. He said that I would talk when I wanted to and why should I when Lindsay always acted as my official ‘Meganspeak’ interpreter?

One day I was sitting at our upright, free-standing bamboo bar in the family room of our home in No Cal. Mom had just brought me a hotdog with extra ketchup. I was sitting on the bar stool swinging my little sturdy legs back and forth. THUD! I had kicked the bar. It shimmied a little and I liked that. So I kicked it again, this time a little harder and it shuddered in response. THUD! So I kicked it harder. THUD! This went on for a few minutes until I kicked it really hard with both feet and CRASH! The entire bar, along with my favorite lunch, went crashing to the ground. Oops! Mom came running in and apparently, I looked at her with my big brown eyes and clearly said “fuck”. OOOPS!

Mom said she was torn between being thrilled that I had spoken a clear English word and not ‘Meganspeak’ and the fact that I had cursed. (NOTE: I could only have learned that word from my older sister, the translator, who was then severely punished for potty mouth). From that point on, I spoke in full sentences as if I had always spoken and as my father says, I’ve been making up for it ever since.

Surprisingly enough, ‘Meganspeak’ has survived to this day. I have my own made up words and turns of phrase that those who know me completely understand in a whacked way and have casually adopted as part of their own vernacular.

For example, my gynecologist uses ‘narfy’ on a regular basis to describe something that is just not quite right or good. I.e., What’s that narfy smell in the bathroom? (Hopefully not a random dookie!)

My doctor, when inquiring about pain level, asks me if it ‘hurts like fuck all with a serious top spin’.

My assistant tosses in the phrase ‘I was all shades of…(fill in the blank)’ into her conversations on a regular basis. I.e., I was all shades of bitter when the concert sold out.

My former step-chilluns bandy about the phrase ‘Bet you a nickel’ whenever they want to demonstrate that they are certain they are right.

The list goes on and on…funny that those who know and love me have adopted or adapted to ‘Meganspeak’. Good thing Grams didn’t lock me up in the nutter bin…or not depending on who you ask…

However, those of you who know me well are not at all surprised that my first word was an ‘f-bomber’ now are you?