Today, kiddies, we are gonna talk about cursing. With Summer vacation coming up, I’m gonna have to work har-diddly-ard to watch my mouth since my impressionable 8-year-old will be within earshot most days. Now that’s not to say when he’s in school, I’m dropping F-bombs on my 4-and 1-year-old. It’s just that when I say them around Tommy, he’s either gonna tell me to put a quarter in the quarter jar (which will leave me broke) or he’ll repeat it to those little monsters he calls friends. Last thing I need this summer is calls from parents telling me Tommy’s been teaching their angels to say, “Fuckidy fucking fuck shit a duck damn stupid fuck!” Which is what I said the other day when I dropped a can of soup on my toes.
Ya know, I can not remember a time when I did not swear. My dad even has this story he likes to tell about when I was like 4 or so. We were all in the car heading to Grandma’s house when another car cut Dad off. He called the man a name and we continued on our merry way. When we got to Grandma’s, I jumped on her lap and told her all about the asshole in the car that tried to hit us. My mom about passed out and my dad couldn’t help but laugh his ass off. Awe…that might have been my first cuss. How sweet.
As I got older, cursing was this wonderfully dangerous act. The first time I’d use a curse, my parents, who spent most of my childhood throwing swears and insults at each other, would say to me, “Don’t say that. That’s a bad word.” And so I wouldn’t say it…around them. But I’d use it the 1st chance I got when I was alone with my older sister or my older, cooler, friends. They thought it was hilarious that this little bite-size girl was coming over talking about asses and saying damn. But their laughter just added fuel to the fire cause I LOVE a good audience, mother fuckers!
I should actually call this blog, Things My Sister Taught Me, because I learned a good bit from her as far as swears go. I think I was in Jr. High when I first heard the C-word. Funny how I now find it to be a disgusting word that I won’t repeat, but back then I couldn’t wait to use it. That night when Kassidy was on the phone with a friend (when wasn’t she on the phone?) I began picking on her, bugging her, anything I could do to get her all riled up. And then I said it! She was really fast back then. The next thing I know, she’s holding me high above the thorny bushes in our yard and threatening to drop me if I ever used that word again. Maybe that’s the real reason why I won’t repeat the word. Those bushes are still there!
She’s also responsible for teaching me that bitch is a bad word. Once, she screamed it at my mom during a fight. My Mom kind of hovered in the air for a minute and then a storm of red burst from her eyes. She flew over and smacked my sister so hard that she had to go across the street and peel her mouth off the neighbors mail box. But, a few years later, I made the same mistake. When I walked over to the neighbors to retrieve my own mouth from their mailbox they called, “How’s your sister?” I told them to fuck off.
Mom looked like that again the day I called my little brother the N-word. My neighbor had been calling her little sister that word all morning. She was even saying it in front of her mom, and her mom couldn’t have cared less. So I peed my pants a little when my mom snatched me up by the collar and spat in my face, “Don’t you ever EVER let me catch you saying that word again! Do you understand me?” I nodded, and she lowered me back down. When I felt it was safe I asked her what it meant. “It’s a horrible word used for black people. ” I then realized the little neighbor girl was an idiot because her sister was not black at all. When I tried to educate her, she rolled her eyes and told me I was stupid. Yeah, she was a bitch.
I can remember when we didn’t even know we were cussing. Once, my cousin Dusty and I were watching Back to the Future. The Lybians just shot Doc and Marty Mcfly screams, “BASTARDS!’ Dusty turned to me and said, “I love that part! BASTARDS!” My aunt about crapped her pants. “Don’t say that! That’s a bad word!” To which Dusty replied, “No it’s not.” I agreed with him until his Mom sent him to the corner for 5 minutes. Yep, bastards IS a bad word. Just not one of the big ones.
I don’t remember learning about fuck or shit or damn. Though, I remember desperately trying to muffle our laughter in the back pew at church when the preacher would say ‘ass’. Granny would turn and hiss, “he’s talking about a donkey!” So from that day on, my cousins and I would call each other asses and defend ourselves with, “We mean donkey!” That didn’t last long. That’s when we learned the taste of soap. Still couldn’t stop ourselves from guffawing when the preacher would say it, though.
Eventually, cussing stopped being so shocking, and so it wasn’t as much fun. It was no big deal to mumble, “son of a bitch” or to call someone a whore. Not even my parents cared when I used bad words. I basically started using cusses when I was mad or drunk. I still use them to access when I’m drunk. Maybe I should start calling them my drunk words.
Now with the kids I try to watch my mouth all the time. I’m sure at Tommy’s age, he and his friends are secretly whispering certain bad-words on the playground and giggling when they hear the preacher say ass. And one day all too soon he might even call me a bitch, but he’ll have to collect a lot more body parts from the neighbors mailbox than just his mouth if he does! Then he’ll casually say damn or shit and I won’t blink an eye. Good Lord! Then he’ll be telling me stories about his own kids blurting swears out! That thought makes me wanna cry.
I don’t wanna think about it. For now, I’m just gonna keep my damn mouth shut and hope for the fucking best!
Thanks for stopping by!