Raising Cubby by John Elder Robison

the stimulating back-and-forth of adult conversation was totally lacking in my exchanges with Cubby. There was really no conversation at all—just a demand from him and compliance from us. If I asked him what kind of tires we should getfor the Land Rover, he would just give me a blank stare. And when I asked what he thought of the government or the latest increase in gas prices, he didn’t say anything at all. That concerned me. However, when I expressed my worries to his mother, she was quick to leap to his defense.
He’s just a little boy!
    I could not remember when I had acquired the ability to discuss politics, religion, and cars, and I didn’t have any other kids, so I was at a loss to evaluate my son. However, after some covert listening to other toddlers, I concluded Little Bear was probably right. Cubby seemed to have a good vocabulary for his age, and the other toddlers I saw were just as vacuous when it came to adult conversation. At the same time they were equally rude and aggressive in their efforts to get their own way.
    Still, that did not mean I had to accept bad manners. I could do something about it. Indeed, as a parent, I believed I had a duty to civilize my child.
    We had arrived at one of those turning points in tyke rearing. Little Bear was still willing to coddle him and be at his beck and call, but I wasn’t. I knew what basic manners had meant to me. As a kid who always said and did the wrong thing, a modicum of politeness was all that saved me from extermination on many occasions. With that in mind, I concluded there was no time like the present to get Cubby on the right track. If my kid was going to make more and more demands, he was going to learn to make them politely. I began his training immediately.
    “Cubby,” I said, “now that you are talking, it’s time to learn politeness. You have to say please when you want something. That way it sounds like you are making a gentle request, not an obnoxious demand. People are more likely to help a polite kid than a rude one.” He just looked at me, but I could see he got the gist of what I was saying. I gave him an example. “Please give me the milk.” I said it slowly and deliberately.
    “Please gimme milk,” Cubby repeated right away. Then he saidit again. I looked at him and wondered if he’d gotten stuck in repeat mode. After another two “please gimme milk” loops I concluded Cubby actually wanted milk and was not just practicing the words. When I gave it to him he slurped it down as though he had not had a drink all day, although there had been no sign of thirst before I started training him, using milk as the example.
    Had he been thirsty before I tried teaching him to ask for a drink? Did saying it make it so? I never did find out. It was enough that I had gotten him to add “please” to his request, and I resolved to move on to the next step.
    “Okay, that’s good. But there’s more. If you want to be a good speaker you also need to add what we call a
salutation
when talking to grown-ups. It’s a sign of respect.”
    Cubby stumbled at the word
salutation
. “Hard word,” he said. I was encouraged to hear him say that, because it told me that his comprehension exceeded his speaking ability. He was mulling over what I’d said and thinking through the meaning of the words. I could see that Cubby had an idea what
salutation
meant even if he could not pronounce the word. That was a sign of intelligence, a portent of things to come. We all want to think our kids are smart, and parents cherish any evidence of that reality.
    “Yes,
salutation
is a hard word. But the actual words you say to show respect are not hard at all. What you are doing is praising someone before you ask them to do something for you. If you say,
you’re the best
, and then ask for something, you are a lot more likely to get it than if you say,
you’re no good
.” Cubby nodded, and I believe he got the picture. “For example, if you wanted me to get you