How kids pick up language, sorry, words.
Heard a joke years ago. Little Tommy is five, mom and dad are building an extension to their house.
I, M A BRICKIES LABORER MUMMY.
© john d Farley,2008.
The look of excitement and wonder was written on his little face.
“Mummy, what are all them men doing digging up our place”.
Well darling, those men are called brickies, and their going to do some layin’.
Build a little place for Grandma, ‘cos with us she’ll soon be stayin’.
The little bloke observes the action from a vantage on the drive.
There’s things a’churnin’ things a’whirren, so much good stuff, his place has come alive.
“Mummy can I play with them”, in his mind’s eye stuff’s revolvin’.
His little mind was all aglow and new things were evolvin’.
Mummy sees a plan unfolden’, it’s like and educational obsession.
Let him learn some things, he’ll be safe, ‘cos this will be his little life’s big session.
Mister foreman, “Can Tommy join you for lunch, I’ll pack his little crib”.
“No probs missus sends him down and we’ll keep our language glib”
Now not every day can little Tommy go and join his brickie mates.
His little school takes precedence, one last look the little fella’ takes.
Many days he makes his little journey, he sits on an upturned brick.
Eats his crib and he chats a lot, many questions asked, they come out fast and thick.
Well little fella what did you do today, and what did you all talk about.
“We mixed some mud, laid them bricks, and then we raked them out”.
Got a tip for the horses races, what’s number 6 in race 10, and mummy what’s the nags.
We talked about how Manly won, Silver tails they called ‘em, and a bunch of dags.
And then one day little Tommy storms home and pelts his crib down on the table
Only been gone awhile, I’ll ask the little bloke what’s the matter when I can see he’s able.
Tommy darling your home early, there’s a tear in his little eyes.
“We got knocked off, ‘cos we got no bloody work”, his little voice replies.
The boss bloke recons, that bloody truckie is up to his bloody tricks.
“Yez can all go home youse bloody blokes, see yez all tamorra, bloody sorry Tommy.
“We got no bloody bricks”.
© john d farley,2008.