Little Girls
Three little girls, ages ten, four, and two. They are sisters, and very much little girls. They refer to me as ‘Uncle’, although we are not related. The oldest girl enjoys the things that most girls her age do, while the two little ones love Barney.
They stood around me while I sat down, each one talking, as they are always so very excited when someone comes to visit. While the oldest one speaks the loudest and continually taps my shoulder, the four-year old climbs into my lap and grabs my chin in her hand as if to say, look at me while I am talking to you. I am aware of the two-year old standing alongside of me because I can feel her little hand tapping my knee and I can hear her own brand of language, which is a cute blend of baby-gibberish with an occasional word of English thrown in.
Although I try my best to listen to what each of them has to say, it is not possible. So instead, I hear little bits and pieces from each. The oldest is talking about summer school, the four year-old is telling me about Barney, and from what I can interpret, the two-year old is also sharing a Barney adventure. I’m trying to understand what the two-year old is saying when she says something unfamiliar.
“What, who is Barney FooFoo?” I ask.
Suddenly, all three girls stop speaking and the ten-year old lets out a bellow of a laugh. The four-year old laughs, and then the two-year old joins in the laughter. “Not Barney FooFoo, Bunny FooFoo!” the oldest one says in a loud factual tone. The four-year old climbs down from my lap and the three of them giggle in unison. “Uncle said, Barney FooFoo!” the ten year-old cries out joyfully. “Uncle said, Barney FooFoo!” the four-year old repeats while struggling to hold her laughter for a moment. “Uncle, gerbleligoobagoo Barney!” the two-year old said so happily.