Mood: Stabby. Someone is doing construction in the apartment
above ours and for some reason, must pound on the floor all the time. For the
past week. Stabby people.
Listening to: Minority – Green Day. As well as the pounding.
I understand why it’s thrilling for kids to swear. I
remember my own illustrious track record with using the most offensive words I
knew, of course never so that my parents could hear me. That would have
resulted in a beating that prevented me from sitting down for a few weeks – I was
much too smart to get caught.
However, my vocabulary was quite limited until I
got into Jr. High. In fact, the year I turned 13, we moved down to the Florida
Keys. That was the beginning of the end. I was thrown in with a lot of kids who
had a lot more world exposure than I did. What can I say, I was a sheltered
kid. My “boyfriend” took perverse delight in teaching me all kinds of fun
words, and hoo boy did I ever put them to good use. Some 17 years later, I
still have a mind that would put a sailor to shame. My husband has finally
given up his campaign to clean up my mouth when I talk to him, because really,
not happening. This type thing only comes out in front of my husband, and occasionally
good friends if I’ve been drinking.
One thing that I have been almost paranoid type careful
about is not swearing in front of my daughters. How can I expect them to talk
politely if I am not a good example? As far as I know, I have never sworn in
front of them. Well folks, I’ve been relieved of the shame of being the one to
break their swear word cherries. Some little punk ass kids beat me to it. Not
only have they been taught a word that will make my mother faint, it’s the mack
daddy of all the swear words. That’s right, it’s my favorite – Fuck. For some reason,
it’s heart breaking for me to hear my 4 year old tell me that “this boy I know”
Hitish says fuck all the time. I am relieved they didn’t learn it from me, but
I still am pissed that they had to hear such things at a young age.
Daddy G saw red and wanted to pass out beatings to the
little offender. I vetoed that idea, as
we are trying to avoid beating the G-lets. I sat the girls down and explained
exactly what “fuck” means and told them I expect it not to come out of their
mouths for at least 15 more years, longer for the youngest. My husband came in
after they went to bed and asked me how I explained it.
“It’s an extremely rude word for what mommies and daddies do
to make a baby.” Was my calm reply.
He burst out into embarrassed, amused laughter.
“What?” I asked as innocently as possible.
“Oh nothing, it’s just so…accurate.”
“Well Daddy G, it’s more fun to say if the meaning is a
mystery. It’s also less fun to say if it doesn’t embarrass your parents.”
“I can’t believe you just talk to them about sex like that.”
He said, turning as red as his brown skin allows.
Sigh. “Daddy G, if it becomes a non-taboo subject and they
feel we can talk about it, I’m hoping it won’t be something they feel the need
to sneak around and discover on their own in a non-responsible way”
“Still.” He said, still embarrassed.
“I cannot believe you are such a prude about these things.
You certainly didn’t balk when you and I explored sex in the most irresponsible
way ever.”
“Can we not talk about sex, us, and our daughters in the
same sentence??” he begged, rapidly backing out of the room.
“Chicken!” I called after him.
At least one of us is going to be a grown up about the sex
conversation. Until then, to the little punk who teaches my daughters offensive words: I have 22 years of learning on you. I can put your little behind in place without using those words at all. I suggest you don't try me. I know who your mother is also, and I'm sure she wouldn't approve.
Becky
