My daughter and son had a long conversation the other day. They knew what they were talking about, within this twin-like patois built upon years of shared jokes. It made sense to them, for all that anyone else would have found the banter of movie and TV quotes to be strings of non-sequitors.
“You know, the baby won’t learn how to talk if this is all it hears,” I jested, referring to my future grandchild. “The school will call and say, ‘We think your child is autistic; he just speaks in scripts’!”
I was mostly joking of course; conversing in “scripts” hasn’t prevented either of my kids from being able to speak. Like in many families, sometimes the scripts imply whole paragraphs of dialog familiar to members. They can serve as conversational shorthand or crutches to encode the meaningful transmission of information when someone is in a hurry, feeling ill, or just making a joke.
Like all the other forms of communication shorthand we use at home, it’s just one of those traditions that creates part of the family culture. (And what better way to hide things from mum than a secret kid argot?)