When my son was just over a year old, we'd argue about the flying trilobite tattoo on my arm.
"Can you say, 'tri-lo-bite'?"
"Bee," pointing at my arm.
"It looks like a bee, yes. But it's a trilobite."
"Try clapping out the syllables for him," Michelle, the educator, suggested.
"Okay, Calvin,"(clapping each syllable)"Tri-lo-bite," I enunciated.
Random clapping. "Bee."
Again, clapping each syllable. "Tri-lo-bite".
An exasperated look for his father, the toddler touched my winged trilobite tattoo, looked me in the eye and said:
"A big bee."
Now he's two, and can say it just fine. After saying it clearly for the first time, holding the fossil above (minus the wings: I found the wings in the years once years ago and snapped the pic - birds had eaten the rest of the poor monarch).
After saying "Trilobite", he laughed, refused to give back the fossil, and a chase scene ensued.
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Original artwork on The Flying Trilobite © to Glendon Mellow
under Creative Commons Licence.
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