Yesterday, Aitch was delivering his usual running commentary (e.g., “The popsicle is red. The popsicle is not purple,” etc.) to which we were giving our usual amount of attention (i.e., minimal). Suddenly I heard him say, “Daddy, it’s hot. It’s wicked hot.”

Husband and I almost fell over laughing. Due to our enthusiastic reception, “wicked” is now a permanent part of Aitch’s vocabulary.

“Wicked” as an adverb (”wicked hot,” “wicked tired”) is a staple of the local teenage argot. Husband and I don’t use it because we weren’t raised here. So at the tender age of three, our son is learning slang on the streets and bringing it home to try out on his astonished parents.

When you adopt from Korea, the adoption agency makes you attend a class to explore issues involved in transracial adoption. But when you move to the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, no one makes you attend a class to prepare you for how you, a non-native, will feel about raising a little Chowderhead.