LEND ME YOUR EAR: THROUGH THE EYES OF A CHILD

Two years ago, this column featured a spirited visit from a Thanksgiving guest who was about to turn two. On Thanksgiving Day this year, I was invited to dine in the same household with this priceless lad. A big boy now, Master William Curran Hennessey had brought his parents with him all the way from Michigan to Cape Girardeau -- with the help of their family car instead of his cherished one-passenger police van.

Upon my arrival at 613 Peironnet, Master Curran greeted me with shrill sounds emanating from a shiny toy trumpet. Accompanied by his grandmother at the piano, he proceeded to entertain me with "Mary Had a Little Lamb," made recognizable by Granmama Birdie. After a score of deafening leads, the accompanist declared she was needed in the kitchen though Daddy Chris was grilling the turkey in glorious sanstunelottist, with Mama Beth at the helm.

Curran and PawPaw Bill had been hunting all day -- inside the house and out -- hunting being their passion any time they get together. They hunt alligators, crocodiles, wolves and other wild game, even dogs. Hunting dogs, not Dalmatians. Fawns and baby elephants are safe from their guns and water pistols, and monkeys are probably up the trees -- discounting those gathered around the dinner table.

At the table, the subject of words arose (I can't imagine how), and PawPaw brought up the half-baked language of supposedly-educated writers and speakers these days. Curran was quick to inform us it was bad manners to criticize anyone. We explained we were talking about the language used by the people, not about the people using it. Granmama Birdie chimed in with her observations on the language of the college crowd when she taught at the university, whereupon Master Curran added that we should never say bad things about others without giving them a chance to defend themselves. Leave it to a four-year-old to put us in our place.

Curran has his heart set on being a police officer when he grows up, and has already adopted a police officer's attire: a burgundy shirt, blue denim overalls that cross between his shoulder blades, and a black-and-white patterned tie the exact length of PawPaw's. The tie covers Curran's knees. PawPaw vows this is the uniform all police officers wear, and his trusting grandson refuses to wear any other.

Like PawPaw, the little lad is given to teasing and belittles lawyers, but is serious when he claims police officers have the most important vocation in the world. To catch criminals and put them out of circulation is the only career for a real he-man. PawPaw has spent most of his life doing precisely that, but it was Curran who was King for Thanksgiving Day, and PawPaw deferred to the King.

Returning to their hunting game even at table, the two he-men present (gentleman who grilled turkey didn't signify) began making animal sounds while gunning down their prey. Some of their victims barked and howled, other screeched and growled, but the star performers were more practiced in the art of barking like dogs.

When Mama Beth brought the plates in, Curran asked for an extra plate beside his, to help feed an imaginary dog. Mama said there was no space; they had to leave room for dessert. Trying to be helpful, I pointed out that dogs don't eat at tables anyway; they eat on the floor. A fat lot of help that was. Curran now wanted his plate on the floor with his fictional dog, and forthwith took to the floor with a request to have his dessert under the table.

"No way!" Mama Beth said less patiently, with the whole company chorusing protests. Thus defeated, Curran tried eating my left shoe, but the leather was too tough -- and the dog-lover abandoned his act and settled for Mama Beth's stern edict.

An altogether different character rejoined the group at table when PawPaw embarked on the blessing. The mischievous little show-off was transformed to the point of agreeing that everything given us comes from the Lord, and he insisted on saying so. With all his clowning, family values come first. Master William Curran Hennessey wound up thanking PawPaw heartily for the beautiful blessing and only incidentally for the food, but especially for the season that brought us all together.

May the blessed bells of Christmas ring in as joyfully.

~Aileen Lorberg is a language columnist for the Southeast Missourian.