'Parent Talk' Poem by Linda Winchell

My parents had their own kind of language, while I was growning up.
I guess I understood, because theses words with me have stuck.

Like, ' Hand me honey that, thingamagig, and that whachamacollit too! '
Seemed my Father had an understanding of the language she used.

I have caught myself repeating these words, at times I've know myself.
Asking my husband to get me that thingamagig, down from some kitchen shelf.

History does repeat itself, if only in our words
Parents talking a language, of what a child ears have heard.
So parents watch what you say
if you care not to have it repeated.
There is always a child within ears shot of your voice.
Of an English language whatchamacollit mistreated.