My two year old son has a curious acumen for attributing sounds with people. He’s done this since he was one, and it always gets a chuckle out my wife and I. The funniest occurrence of this gift is in the case of Josiah’s two grandfathers, Jack and Larry.
Jessica’s father, Jack, rides a Harley and is in a Christian motorcycle outreach, “The Tribe of Judah.” The muffler to the bike sounds like a thousand grenades going off in a sewer pipe. Josiah has seen his “Papa” on it only a handful of times. But whenever Josiah hears another bike, car, or truck that vaguely sounds similar to Jack’s he will gasp and say, “Papa!”
Similarly, my father has a particular sound attributed to his name. Josiah’s “Paw” has a family tradition that has been passed on from generation to generation. It’s slightly grosser and not quite as charming as the motorcycle story. Whenever Josiah hears any one, uh, “flatulate”, he cuts a sly grin (even a baby knows a fart is hilarious) and says in a drawn out tone, “Paaawww.”
Yes, at a very young age, before he could even form a coherent phrase, my son found that my father is the jack of all gastric passings. Even the minor vaporous expulsions in our house can be blamed on “Paw”, the proud patriarch of our flatulent family.
My son has observed what I also observed at a young age: My dad is the King of Cutting Cheese. This genetic medical condition has also been passed down in part to his only son.
Don’t worry, I don’t feel any shame in it. It’s a Daniels family legacy after all.