It takes a child

The thing about kids is the way they can amaze you.

To be honest, I’ve never been terribly good with children who can’t yet speak. “Yes,” I tend to feel, “I can see that you have something terribly important to tell me, but what exactly is it?” Or, just as exasperating, “I really do want to tell you everything I can about that fascinating [delete as appropriate] puddle/stretch of sand/breaking wave/odd looking insect/open flame/other (please specify), but I have no language to tell you it in that you’ll understand”.

The philosopher Wittgenstein once claimed that, “whereof we cannot speak, thereof we must remain silent”. A writer I far prefer, the playwright Tom Stoppard turned that around, into “whereof we cannot speak, thereof we are by no means silent”.

During her recent visit to us, my new granddaughter Matilda demonstrated clearly that Stoppard was right and Wittgenstein mistaken. It’s easy to be highly communicative without words. She had no difficulty at all letting me know how she felt about things (or people, including me) or what she wanted to do next.

Danielle is my wife but during that visit, it was much more relevant to think of her as Matilda’s grandmother (or Mamama, as she’s called, this being the customary name for ‘grandma’ in her native Alsace). Mamama has a laugh one can only call explosive. At one time, in a cinema in Strasbourg, a student of hers approached us at the end and said, “I was at the other end of the cinema, but I thought it must be you laughing like that”.

Matilda gives us a laugh
as her Granddad gives her a shoulder ride

Matilda has now picked up Mamama’s laugh. And she’s decided it’s something to deploy at every possible opportunity. For instance, when both of them went to the local baker’s, she started laughing at the woman behind the counter, who found it so irresistible, that she laughed back. Delighted with her success, Matilda laughed still harder. That got another client going, so Matilda turned her attention to her. Before long, the whole shop was laughing with the baby in her pram.

It was when she started using that laughter on me that I first noticed its seductive power. And, in an excellent example of communication without words, I quickly realised that she wasn’t laughing at me, but with me. Or, at least, since I wasn’t actually laughing when she started, inviting me to laugh with her.

It worked. Of course.

Slowly, I began to pay a little more attention to her other expressions. I discovered that even when she wasn’t laughing at me, she was often smiling. This slightly astonished me. After all, what with being so uneasy with a child I couldn’t talk to, I’d tended to hang back a bit. I mean, her parents and her Mamama were paying her plenty of attention. I rather assumed she didn’t need me to do much.

The occasional hug. A kiss or two from time to time. Maybe a bit of a walk or a shoulder ride. That felt like probably the appropriate level. I hoped Matilda would be pleased with the little I was doing, as a kind of bonus to the real attention she was getting from everyone else, but didn’t expect any particular further acknowledgement of my role in her life. Or, indeed, even of my presence.

And then I realised that she was turning a dazzling gaze on me from time to time, followed by a brilliant smile if I made any kind of response. A wave. A word. Frankly, even a smile back.

Amazing. I suddenly realised I could, after all, establish a relationship with this young girl. One that we could both enjoy.

Matilda telling Granddad she likes the playground

So I started doing other things. Making odd sounds. Hiding behind a chair and suddenly appearing. Planting noisy kisses on her legs, her belly or her neck (which always produced a wonderful, if whimsical reaction: she would turn her head away, but press herself closer to me so I could do it again). 

I even found myself sharing my orange juice with her.

Matilda sharing Granddad's orange juice

The reward was smiles. Occasionally, I even got that newly mastered trick of hers, an outright laugh. Or even better, a chortle, which was much funnier.

Ah, yes. Non-verbal communication. It works all right.

An astonishing insight. Hidden from me only by the veil of adulthood.

It turns out it’s child’s play.

Matilda makes it clear:
just have fun and the smiles will follow