I woke up after surgery with my leg bandaged beyond recognition, with tubes coming out of various limbs, with my mouth sandpaper dry and my mind confused. The operation had required two bone grafts (移植). I wouldn’t walk for three months, optimistically. I couldn’t drive. I couldn’t navigate the steps in our house. I couldn’t even shower on my own.

I turned to my husband, Adam, and asked, “How are we going to manage?” Who would get the kids to the bus at 7: 15 a.m., since my husband was in his office by 6 a.m. each day? Who would deal with the dogs, who relied on my companionship and long walks? Who would prepare dinner?

“We’ll figure it out,” Adam said. I nodded, because what was the alternative? But nowhere in any of my cells did I believe him. Not even a tiny bit.

I posted about my accident on Facebook. And something unexpected happened: friends both near and far asked me how they could help. I wrote back, thanking them all but not taking them up on their kind offers. But by the time we returned home, a friend had already set up a dinner train: Meals for my family were taken care of for the first month of my recovery. Parents at our school bus stop offered to drop my kids off each afternoon. Friends sent care packages of books and food.

My children learned to be both autonomous and sympathetic. They ran up the steps each day after school to check on me; my daughter set up her karaoke machine by the couch to keep me entertained while I embarked on (开始准备) my slow, cruel PT exercises. My son dutifully fetched my laptop charger or a fork or a bottle of water when asked, never complaining, as he would have in the past.

My kids no longer had the luxury of my setting out their school clothes or packing their lunches or ensuring that their homework was filed. So they learned to do it themselves, and in a surprise perhaps only to me, everyone was all the better for it.

“Can you say mama? Or dada? Wave bye-bye!” If you’ve spent any time around a baby, chances are you’ve heard of said things like this. The high-pitched (声调高的), singsong tone we switch to when interacting with young children can go by names—baby talk, or, according to development specialists, infant-directed speech. But as simplistic as this melodic chat might seem, the conversations are important.

Baby talk is an essential piece of speech and language development. Studies show that when infants are exposed to daily doses of it throughout their first year of life, they develop more vocabularies than other kids. By analyzing the jabber (含糊不清的话) between babies and caregivers throughout the world, investigators have pointed out key parts of the tender interactions—elements that, when parents apply them, help their kids learn more words and promote social interaction.

In a study led by University of Washington professor Naja Ferjan Ramirez, researchers recorded parent-child interactions at home, equipping infants with vests (背心) containing recording devices that listened for two continuous days at 6,10,14, and 18 months of age. Before each session (部分), some of the adults were coached on using infant-directed speech effectively, while others received no training. The kids of trained grown-ups performed better throughout the study, and follow-up surveys showed the benefits lasted: At 18 months, the average vocabulary of children whose parents had received coaching was about 100 words. However, children in the control group averaged about 60 words.

Researchers are still trying to find how baby talk functions and why it’s so beneficial. Better understanding of the role it plays in a child’s growth could help psychologists and others identify infants at high risk of developing a language disorder, says UCLA’s Sundara. And maybe, eventually, she says, it could result in earlier targeted treatments and therapies. So don’t be shy, sing. “Who’s that? That’s Mommy!” as much as you want—babies everywhere are listening.

The Board Meeting had come to an end. Bob started to stand up and knocked into the table, spilling his coffee over his notes. “How embarrassing! I am getting so clumsy in my old age.”

Everyone had a good laugh, and soon we were all telling stories of our most embarrassing moments. It came around to Frank who sat quietly listening to the others. Someone said, “Come on, Frank. Tell us your most embarrassing moment.”

Frank laughed and began to tell us of his childhood. “I grew up in San Pedro. My Dad was a fisherman, and he loved the sea. He had his own boat, but it was hard making a living on the sea. He worked hard and would stay out until he caught enough to feed the family. Not just enough for our family, but also for his Mom and Dad and the other kids that were still at home.”

He looked at us and said, “I wish you could have met my Dad. He was a big man, and he was strong from pulling the nets and fighting the seas for his catch. When you got close to him, he smelled like the ocean. He would wear his old canvas, foul-weather coat and his bibbed overalls. His rain hat would be pulled down over his brow. No matter how much my mother washed them, they would still smell of the sea and of fish.”

Frank’s voice dropped a bit. “When the weather was bad he would drive me to school. He had this old truck that he used in his fishing business. That truck was older than he was. It would wheeze and rattle down the road. You could hear it coming for blocks. As he would drive toward the school, I would shrink (畏缩) down into the seat hoping to disappear. Half the time, he would slam to a stop and the old truck would belch (喷出) a cloud of smoke. He would pull right up in front, and it seemed like everybody would be standing around and watching. Then he would lean over and give me a big kiss on the cheek and tell me to be a good boy. It was so embarrassing for me. Here, I was twelve years old, and my Dad would lean over and kiss me goodbye!”

He paused and then went on, “I remember the day I decided I was too old for a goodbye kiss. When we got to the school and came to a stop, he had his usual big smile. He started to lean toward me, but I put my hand up and said, “No, Dad.” It was the first time I had ever talked to him that way, and he had this surprised look on his face. I said, “Dad, I’m too old for a goodbye kiss. I’m too old for any kind of kiss.” My Dad looked at me for the longest time, and his eyes started to tear up. Then he turned and looked out the windshield. “ You’re right,” he said. “ You are a big boy.... a man. I won’t kiss you anymore.”

Frank got a funny look on his face, and the tears began to well up in his eyes, as he spoke. “It wasn’t long after that when my Dad went to sea and never came back. It was a day when most of the fleet (船队) stayed in, but not Dad. He had a big family to feed. They found his boat adrift with its nets half in and half out. He must have gotten into a strong wind and was trying to save the nets and the floats.”

I looked at Frank and saw that tears were running down his cheeks. Frank spoke again. “Guys, you don’t know what I would give to have my Dad give me just one more kiss on the cheek…to feel his rough old face… to smell the ocean on him… to feel his arm around my neck. I wish I had been a man then. If I had been a man, I would never have told my Dad I was too old for a goodbye kiss.”