The other day, Child One and I were having a conversation in the car (where many of our best conversations take place) about whether the Beatles’ song “Come Together” would be a good song for his band. I said that I thought their singer would like singing it—I was thinking this because it would fit in with his abundance of front-man attitude (unpolished though it is at his young age of 12). But before I could say this, Child One said, “Yeah, he would like it; he likes syncopated songs.”
Now, Child One has used big words before. He’s been known to drone on and on about topics that I don’t fully understand, like certain video games. And when my kids talk about scales and flats and chords, it does sometimes feel to me (who can’t even yodel) like they’re speaking Etruscan or some other language I know very little about. But—as far as I know (I have to admit that I’m not always fully listening)—this was the first time that he’d used a word completely outside my experience, whose meaning I couldn’t even guess. So casual, so confident, as if he were saying any old word.
Just like when I realized that Child One’s clothes were closer to man sized than little-boy sized, I was jolted by the reminder that he’s growing up. As a mom, I’m used to my kids asking me the meanings of words; I’m not used to having to ask them. While he’s still so young in some ways, Child One is moving beyond me in others.