The Last Pomato

Many of my posts have been about the linguistic charm--at least we think it's charming--of our preschool boy. You've heard my melancholy over the fading faux pas that tickle us. You've read about "opa-meal," the "fledge" of allegiance and "pampakes." For a long time he's said "pomatoes" for tomatoes.

We're working on letter sounds with him. Studying black-line drawings of nouns that start with the "t" sound, he understood that each word began with that hard "t-t-t." "T-t-tire" he said while looking at the picture, then proudly glancing up for affirmation.

"That's right."

"T-t-turtle."

"Yep."

"T-t--what is that flower?"

"A tulip."

"Oh! It's pretty. T-t-tulip."

Keeping the rhythm, he looked at the next picture and said "P-p..." He stopped, realizing that he wasn't making the "t" sound, even though he was pretty sure he was looking at a pomato. He started again, "P-p..." He stared at it. "What is this thing?"

With the pang that accompanies "lasts," I reluctantly said, "A t-t-tomato. It's a to-ma-to."

"Tomato?" He was perfectly capable of saying it.

"Yes, a tomato."

"Oh. T-t-tomato."

The end.