Now David can say almost anything, except words beginning with the letter “ T. ”

He gets tongue-tied every time he tries to say “ T ” and substitutes an “ F ” instead.

Three becomes “free.” When asked his age, he cheerfully exclaims, “I’m free, free!” Adorable, right?

Who could have imagined what trouble was coming…

We were riding in the car when my darling suddenly began shouting an expletive. A real four-letter doozy. Shocked, I pulled over and turned around to stare at him. He pointed at a huge 18-wheeler sitting in a parking lot and repeated his X-rated version of the word ‘truck.’

After trying to get him to say it correctly for a week, I gave up.  Embarrassed, I quickly executed an evasive right or left turn whenever I saw a truck in the distance. Especially if we had a guest in the car.  I began to drive with the windows up and the air conditioner on. That way, no one would call Social Services to report us if we stopped at a light and David spotted his favorite type of vehicle.

On a balmy Sunday, we stood in line after church waiting to greet the minister. David, cherubic in his tiny seersucker suit, spotted a fire engine coming down the street. I stiffened as I glanced down at him and saw the smile spread across his face. Overjoyed, he tapped me on the arm and said “Mommy! Truck, Truck!” Only the ” T ” was pronounced as an “ F. ”

My cheeks burned as red as the fire engine. I ignored him. Puzzled by this sudden lack of interest from his mother, he turned to our fellow parishioners and announced,  “Look! Red truck!!!  Fast, fast truck!” My, his “T”s sounded just like “F”s. I glanced back at the street. Darn it! More fire trucks were approaching, and I heard David holler, “Three trucks!” Oh, how those “T”s sounded like “F”s.

Heads swiveled. Benevolent chuckles surrounded us as I grabbed my child, dashed for the car, and muttered apologetically to anyone who would listen, “He means ‘truck.’ He’s trying to say ‘truck.’” He was still shouting, “Bye-bye, truck” as I fastened him in his car seat.

I hurried home to consult the shelf of child-rearing books I’d purchased. After perusing all the indexes, I was stumped. There was not a single entry about “T”s that sounded like “F”s. Surely I couldn’t be the only person who had experienced this developmental snafu.

That night I lay awake staring at the ceiling and wondered how I could let people know David wasn’t acquainted with the slang word for fornication? It seemed so unfair –- especially since I had conscientiously quit swearing when I became a mother (no easy feat for me).

An idea popped into my head, and I reached for my laptop thinking, “Thank heavens for the Internet and 24-hour cyberspace shopping.” I quickly found an online t-shirt company, and I ordered a tiny blue shirt onto which I had emblazoned “HE MEANS ‘TRUCK’!” in large block letters.

There, I thought. That will explain everything.

The shirt arrived, and David happily slipped it on. To my surprise, other mothers didn’t laugh. They looked at me with raised eyebrows and pursed lips that signaled disapproval.

Strangers in the grocery store read his T-shirt, and then stared at me in horror. Friends averted their gaze. Oh well, maybe not so funny.

Happily, David soon began to pronounce his “T”s clearly, and the shirt was no longer needed. I’ve kept it as a souvenir. Since then, his enunciation has improved dramatically. He’s three and a half now, and even when he invents words, they’re usually funny.

Last night he announced that his favorite dinosaur to be the “Stega-dino-saurus.” Now that would look good on a T-shirt!  I closed my eyes and pictured letters spelling out this whimsical new creature. They stretched all the way across his chest around his left side and wrapped around his tiny back. Yes, that would look good on a T-shirt.