My understanding of the world grew deeper before it became wider, but before it could do even that I had to learn to talk. In earlier days there had been no need, for it was best simply to do as I was told without question. Things changed when the need to question became greater than my ability to resist it, when causes for complaint required urgent attention, and when expressing delight simply through laughter seemed insufficient.
Perhaps I had assumed before this that I would be able to use words as soon as I needed to. I do not know if this is true, but I do recall that there was a period of great frustration when such an assumption, if it existed, proved to be false. One day I beat the ground with a young child's anger as I failed to make my meaning clear (I forget the situation now), and wondered why, if I understood others when they talked to me, they seemed unable to understand when I talked back to them. It must have been because the sounds I was making were no more conveyed no more meaning to those around me than the cry of a kittiwake or the bleating of a sheep, but of course I could not be aware of this at the time. That episode was resolved when my mother picked me up, held me close and sang to me, which made the problem of communication seem less important, even if it did nothing to resolve it.
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