Piggy, Piggy, Sma

piggy in welliesWhen Abby and I were little girls, she spoke clearly from an early age and I spoke my own language.  It was difficult, if not impossible, for people to understand me.  Mary was frustrated with the language problem and took no responsibility to help me.  She would say, “I have no idea what the child is saying!  How would I know?  It’s all just gibberish to me and until she can speak plainly, she’s going to have a hard time in life.”

Our Dad tried to work with me and would make up little games for me to repeat.  I had difficulty with Abby’s name and the sound for the letter P.  My Dad would say “Piggy, piggy, Abby.”  And I would say, “Piggy, piggy, Sma.”  Now Abby would sometimes get mad and ask Dad why I called her that horrible name.  Other times she would say to me, “It’s OK.  Sma will help you.”

This went on for twenty years.  No, I’m kidding!  I finally was able to speak plainly before I was five and haven’t called Abby by that name for many years.  Instead we call each other by our favorite name of all, sister!


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