Mothers of twins will tell you that their children have secret languages. I am not really so sure.
Let me tell you of my cousin J and I. J’s mother died of cancer when he was 3. J and I were only 16 months apart and because we lived on the family farm, J and I spent a lot of time growing up together, in fact, many people thought we were siblings. J and I were inseparable, and my mom often would refer to us as being like twins. She’d say we had our own language like twins did. I remember the summer I was nine, J’s step-mom decreed that whispering was rude and that no one was to whisper any more around her. The reason for this decree was simple. J and I would be playing together and he would lean towards me, whisper (in our special language which was just gibberish), laugh and we’d go off and do something as if he’d told me to do something. Now what made our special language work so well was one basic principal. J knew that no matter what he did, I would follow. He didn’t have to give any instructions. He just merely had to get my attention and then do what it was that he wanted me to do and I’d mimic him. What our moms thought was a special language was no more than babble. It meant nothing to either one of us. He was dependent on the fact that at 16 months younger, I totally hero worshiped him. And it worked every time.
I see the same thing with my own three. #1 and #2 are me and J made over. They even have our personalities. It’s like watching us grow up all over again. She hero worships her brother and yes, they are 16 months apart. But what reminded me of our secret language was #2 and #3 playing Wii today. There’s 6 years between the girls, but they are thick as thieves. #2 wanted a baby sister, and God gave her an exact likeness. They were playing Wii and whispering and giggling and occasionally looking over their shoulders at me and I realized, now I am the mom on the outside. It’s my turn to decree that whispering is evil. But I refuse. You see, that summer J and I had so much fun. We deliberately found times to whisper and then pretend that we weren’t so that we could tick of his step-mom. Nope, I’m not giving them that satisfaction. Besides, I know they aren’t saying anything important. Just sister talk. Let them enjoy each other. I miss those summers when J and I were so close.
When we get together now, which is rare, he’ll lean in, whisper something in gibberish, we’ll both giggle, and get up from the table and I’ll follow him and do whatever it is that he does. Mom will shake her head and say those two always had their own special language…