At just over a year old, my daughter, Sasha, is on her way to becoming, one day, a human being—or at least understanding human language. In the last month or two, she will, if you tell her, clap her hands, point at your nose (and maybe her ear), lift her foot, and go find her ball. She is also a professional-level peekaboo athlete. It’s all pretty neat—especially since she only responds to requests made in Chinese. Now, the potential problem:
We (okay, I) refer to all these demonstrations of her growing intellect as her “tricks.” You know, like a dog. Or sounding like a dog. I don’t know. These things aren’t exactly useful skills, the kinds of things a sentient adult might use to secure gainful employment, but well, she’s a kid. Usually when parents say “tricks,” it’s to talk about clever ways to get kids to go to sleep or eat their vegetables. This, however, feels sort of demeaning, but I can’t think of another word out there that conveys the collection of behaviors she’s learned.
Plus, she is definitely smarter than a dog. When you point at something in the distance with your finger, a dog will look at your finger. Sasha, meanwhile, will look at what you’re pointing at, and point her own finger in its direction. Then she’ll put the finger up her nose.
Which, speaking of gainful employment, means she’s overqualified for this job.
For me these are important party tricks, when ever i have a dinner party I need some new tricks for the kid to entertain the crowd. I pay him of course, to keep current with all the child labor laws.
I refer to my guy’s array of skills as tricks too, somewhat self-consciously. I don’t want to be that a-hole parent who not only thinks it’s an actual achievement that her son can point at the light and say “clock”, but thinks that you, the person trapped in conversation with me, is going to think it’s an achievement. Hence, tricks. Of course, I do think it’s an actual achievement, but I save that kind of gushing for the baby book.