yo hablo Henry

My sister Liz's son, Henry, is what we like to call a growler. Oh, he makes other noises too, but the overwhelming theme of his discourses is growling. The other day, Gigi spent an evening with Henry and he taught her a few things about the hard-knock life, cruising, using your hands, as well as the finer points of rhetoric. Growling has been unfairly overlooked by academics in the past, but it can be a very persuasive rhetorical tool. Sure enough, the next morning Matt and I are awakened at the ungodly hour of 5:30am, not by the soft delightful coos and even gargling (yes, she gargles most impressively) of the Geege, but by insistent growls. In our delirium, we both sat up in bed and looked around to see if Henry had come to visit, so convincing was her impersonation. When we peered into the side-car she calls her bed, her brow was furrowed in extreme concentration until she recognized our faces and smiled in satisfaction. All her work had payed off.