Down Home: Why use a real word when a made-up word will do?

Hanging out with little kids will expand your vocabulary. My grandson, Ezra, recently reminded me of the word-warping, lexicon-lengthening, expression-expanding power of childhood imagination.

Ezra and I agree fall is an exceptionally exciting time of year for one good reason—college football.

Ezra is thrilled, because he can watch his beloved Notre Dame Fighting Irish every weekend

I know. A 4-year-old Baptist minister’s kid cheers rabidly for the gridiron gladiators from one of America’s most esteemed Catholic universities. To quote a line from one of his mama’s favorite movies, The Princess Bride: “Inconceivable!”

Offer Ezra absolution, but blame NBC. For years and years, the Peacock Network has broadcast practically every Notre Dame football game. This makes great economic sense. For generations, Notre Dame has been the pre-eminent football powerhouse for all the Christians who look to the pope as their religious leader. So, Fighting Irish faithfulness transcends region, and NBC has made zillions of dollars delivering Midwestern Catholic smash-mouth football to a loyal national fan base.

This means kids of all faiths and no faith who were reared a good ways from any other football program of distinction often develop a fondness for the Irish. That’s what happened to Ezra’s daddy, Aaron, who grew up Baptist in Midland watching Notre Dame practically every autumn weekend.

So, while Ezra lives less than 20 miles south of the Texas Longhorns’ home turf, he’s following in his daddy’s footsteps. Early this month, he donned his “ND” ball cap and cheered for the Irish when they whipped the ’Horns in both teams’ season-opener.

A few days before the big game, we talked a grandson-granddad version of football smack on a video call.

“Ezra, can you say, ‘Hook ’em, Horns’?” I asked.

“Go, Irish!” he yelled in response.

“You mean you’re not going to root for UT in the ballgame Saturday?” I inquired.

“No. Notre Dame!” he hollered in retort.

(Ezra often speaks very loudly when we talk via video. That’s because his mama, Lindsay, holds the phone while he bounces all over their greatroom.)

“No way, Notre Dame!” I exclaimed. “I can only think of one team I want Notre Dame to beat.”

“Who’s that?” Ezra called out in question.

“Ohio State,” I told him. “I can’t stand Ohio State.” Just as Aaron has loved the Irish since he was a kid, I’ve deplored the Buckeyes since I was a boy. Their coach back then, Woody Hayes, possessed a vicious, repulsive temper. Besides, my father-in-law, Jim, is from Ohio, and I couldn’t give him a break by rooting for his team.

“Marvo, that’s not going to happen,” Ezra expounded in explanation. “Notre Dame is not versing Ohio State.”

“Versing”?

Lindsay later explained that’s Ezra’s word for what happens when one team plays another: “You know, like ‘Notre Dame versus Ohio State.’ That’s ‘versing.’ … I’ll be sad when Ezra gets bigger and teams stop ‘versing’ each other.”

Ezra’s made-up “versing” reminded me of words his mama and Aunt Molly invented.

When Lindsay was about his age, she reminded me of something I had forgotten, and I complimented her. “Well, I have a good remembery,” she explained.

Even earlier, she confused some sounds, such as “Z” and “Y.” On multiple occasions, as we bundled her in her parka, she asked her mama, Joanna, or me, “Yip my yipper.”

I still miss Molly’s simple-yet-practical practice of adding a “D” to verbs to make them past tense. Once, she walked out of a restroom and announced, “It stinked in there.”

A family favorite remains how she would describe, for example, what happened when her shoestring came untied: “It comed unloose.”

Ezra’s use of “versing” extends the practice of making up words to yet another generation. What a delightful blessing to our family. Who knows what new word I’ll learn the next time we talk?