As I was reading a book to the kids the other day, I adopted a pretty good old lady voice for one of the characters. Pretty impressed with myself, I paused for a moment and asked, “So, did you like my old lady voice?” Both Charlotte and Luke commented that it was good (although they may have just been humoring me so I would get on with the story).
Later in the day, Luke asked me somewhat out of the blue, “Dad, do you like my voice?”
At first, I couldn’t quite understand him. “Do I like your what?” “My voice, Dad, do you like my voice?”
I’m not sure if he had been doing a ‘voice’ (he often does, especially when he’s playing with puppets or toy figures and when he’s recounting events), or if he was asking about the sound of his normal, everyday voice.
For a fleeting moment, I thought that he might be developing an insecurity about how he sounded, a thought I quickly dismissed as being out of character – he’s very carefree, confident, and seems unconcerned about how he’s perceived by others.
Plus, his voice is great – he talks well for a two and half year old, which is a relief to me because, as someone who struggled with a speech impediment and a heavy Massachusetts accent, in addition to talking fast and running words together, I feared I might pass on these undesirable traits to my kids (never mind my subpar singing voice and pitch dyslexia)
I’d like to think he was asking about his ‘voice’ in the more sophisticated, larger sense – as in a writer’s ‘voice,’ so to speak — his perspective, his way of looking at and understanding the world and communicating that understanding to others.
Regardless of what ‘voice’ he was referring to, the answer was a resounding, ‘yes,’ on all counts.
“Yes, Luke, I like your voice very much,” I stated. “In fact, I love your voice.”
It was a statement I made in my very own voice, the voice of a loving and proud dad, a voice that I have come to relish using.
I hope you enjoyed today’s serving of ‘mac & cheese.’
