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The Color of Yogurt

Story ID:2462
Written by:Michael Timothy Smith (bio, link, contact, other stories)
Story type:Family History
Writers Conference:$500 2007 Family Memories Writing Project
Location:Fort Lee New Jersey USA
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The Color of Yogurt

"What color it is?" my grandson Benny asked me, pointing
to the patio chairs.

"Blue." I replied.

"Booo." he repeated.

He pointed to his shirt, "What color it is?"


"What color it is?" pointing at my pants.

"Purple." I lied.

"No, no, no, no. No! It bwown."

"Very good, Benny! It is brown."

Benny was two and a half. In just a few months, his vocabulary
took off. He was quite proud of it. I was reminded of my own kids
at that age. I wish I had written down the things they said.

My son came to me one day, "Dad? What's the groan area?"

"The what?"

"You know, Dad! The groan area!" he motioned his hands in front
of his private area. "The groan area, Daddy?"

"Do you mean the groin area?"

"Yeah! That's it! The groin area! What's that, daddy?"


I was lucky to have the opportunity to experience this verbal growth
again. It gave me a lot of laughs.

Little Benny loved to name his colors. Ginny had him in a department
store. She was looking at shirts. As she moved along, slowly examining
them, Benny reached out to each one, lifted it and stated the color of
the fabric. He came to a new one, reached out, lifted it, put it down and
reached for the next.

"Benny, you missed one. What color is this?" Ginny asked him.

Benny stared at it, a look of concentration on his face. Ginny could
tell he wasn't sure what color it was. "Yogurt." he finally said.
Apparently, his favorite flavor of yogurt is pink.


Benny came to me, "Mum, Mum!" He paused. "Gin, Gin!" I waited for
him to get it right. "Poppa!"

"Yes, Benny." He was in such a hurry to tell me something, he got
our names mixed up.

Benny pointed to a lamp. "This?"

"No, Benny. Not that. Don't touch the lamp."

"Nope! Sawwy." He said and pointed to my glasses, "This?"

"No! Poppa needs those."

Around the room he went, determining the things he could
or could not touch.

He pointed to a book, "This?"

"Sure, Benny. You can touch that."

"Otay! T'ank you." and off he went.


They grow older and learn to put sentences together. They know
more words, but it's hard for them to grasp certain concepts.

Ginny and I took our six-year-old grandson to see the Statue of
Liberty. We drove down the New Jersey side of the Hudson River. Seth
looked across the river at Manhattan, "Poppa Mike! GinGin, Look!
It's the Vampire State Building."


A cruise ship was going down the river. "Seth, look at the big
cruise ship!"

"That's not a cruise ship, Poppa! That's a party boat!" Sometimes
kids get it absolutely right.


Seth was helping Ginny cook dinner one night. "GinGin, little
kids can't cook, can they?"

"Sure they can," she replied. "They can cook with supervision."

There was a pause before Seth asked, "You have to have super
vision to cook? Like Superman"


Little Benny sat on my lap on the deck. Seth walked up, "Benny,
you have my shirt on!"

"Seth, it's OK!" I said. "That shirt doesn't fit you anymore. It's
too small for you."

"Poppa Mike, how come clothes get smaller?" he asked.


Of course there is Josh and his trains, which he calls, "HooHoo's."
He turned a train car full of tired people, into a car full of smiles,
as he screamed, "Poppa Mike! Poppa Mike! Look! Hoohoo's! And fracks!!!
Poppa, look at the fracks!"


I wasn't much help to my grandsons. They were in their little wading
pool playing.I looked over the deck, "Seth, what's that in the pool?"

He looked, "It's a chip." They had been eating potato chips near the pool.

"It's a chip wreck?" I asked.

"Poppaaaa!" he scolded me.

"Is it a sunken chip?"

"Poppaaaa!" he scolded me again.

"It must be a party chip then."

"Poppaaaa Mike!!! You're silly."

It's a great stage in their life to witness. Don't miss out on it. If
you do, you might never know they make shirts the color of yogurt.

Michael T. Smith