Woddyodda

Woddyodda. This is the newest word in Heero's four-year-old vocabulary, and it's all my fault. But the story of how this came to be is innocent enough.

Who knew a duck could be immortal? Yet, that's exactly what has happened in the case of the children's folk song "The Little White Duck," penned by Walt Whippo and Bernard Zaritsky in 1950 and popularized by singer Burl Ives in the '60s.

Flash back to that wonderful time, and you would see me, the future-Googie, spinning out song after song on my little suitcase-style record player from Sears and  Roebuck. A favorite in my repertoire was a 45-rpm version of "The Little White Duck," a record I talked my dad into buying for me on one of our evening trips to the neighborhood grocery store for milk and lunch meat.

It is easy to see why this little ditty has survived the test of time. Simply put, it is a charming compilation of all the things children love--animal characters, animal sounds that are fun to imitate and listen to, rhyme and rhythm, a catchy melody, lyrical repetition, dialogue, and a good, action-filled story-line. (If you don't know this song, or just need a refresher, take a trip to YouTube and let Burl Ives or Danny Kaye serenade your inner-child.) 

Now fast forward to 2007, when The Era of Grandkids began. I don't exaggerate a bit when I say that all six of them, as preschoolers, have loved "The Little White Duck," asking for it time and time again, especially as I am tucking them in bed. This means I have sung this song an infinite number of times for nearly eleven years now.

Last weekend, when Heero and Beenie spent the night, was no different. But this time, as the song ended, Heero had a question.

"Googie," he asked. "What's woddyodda?"

At first I was stumped. Where in the world did this word come from? But after a few slow, sleepy seconds I figured it out. The key to the mystery lay right there, in the lyrics of "The Little White Duck."

The song begins, "There's a little white duck/sitting in the water. A little white duck/doing what he oughta." There it was: I guess my slurry, sleepy singing voice (combined with my hillbilly accent) does not articulate the best. Instead of "what he oughta," Heero heard woddyodda. And he wanted to know just exactly what in the world it was that the duck and other animals had been "doing."

I gave some lame explanation about the animals doing what was right for them. "A duck is supposed to sit in the water," I said. "A little black bug is supposed to float."

"I always do woddyodda," Heero told me, adding that sometimes his brother fell a little short. And just like that, he owned a new word.

And this, my friends, is how retired teachers of English adulterate the vocabularies of their grandkids. Unfortunately, in Heero's case, it doesn't stop there. I am also responsible for his love of piracy.

Yes, that is a meat cleaver he is wielding. Both it and the costume come from an after-Halloween Dollar General clearance sale (90% off!) that I just couldn't resist.

But that's another story.