*&%!@ and stuff

When my kids were little, one of the things that drove my mom nuts (among the OH SO MANY things that drive her insane about me) was that I refused to censor my language around the kids. I’d bust out with a swear word, and she’d tsk at me – one because “I taught you better then that!” and two because “little pitchers have big ears!”

Granted, she did teach me better, but when you were a teenager, was there ANYTHING better then slipping out a cuss word on the sly when Mom wasn’t looking? It was a tiny rebellion, not even really enough to get you grounded or in BIG trouble, just enough to light the little flame of rebel that lives in all of us. Then, of course, once I moved out – it was no holds barred. I could say what I wanted, when I wanted, and @#!@ anyone who thought different! Even then, though, I didn’t really let loose in front of mom, not for years yet. (Meaning now? I don’t censor at all. My poor mother…)

Then I had kids. There’s a lot of things that change when you have kids – you’re supposed to wait till they’re sleeping to have a beer, and until they’re walking to teach them to GET your beer and make sure they can properly mix your margaritas but not until at least five. You’re supposed to child proof the house, cover the outlets, pull the knobs off the stove, pad the sharp corners, protect them from every little bump and bruise, lump and obstacle in their way. I guess I was still in my rebellious stage when I decides I wasn’t going to censor my mouth, because #@$%#$!@$ I was an adult, and @!$#%!@ what anyone thought about it! I can’t tell you how many times I got dirty looks from complete strangers as they slapped their hands over their preshush beebees widdle ears, while my mother continued to tsk.

Friends of ours took a different approach then we did – though we couldn’t understand the difference. They altered the words, so that they were more acceptable, but in doing so, they still taught them to cuss – which was almost worse. Words like “sheeppoker!” could be just as embarrassing when your three year old calls it out to that giant truck driver, as an actual cuss word would be. I never understood that – I figured it was a do or don’t situation. We chose the ‘do’ approach.

We made a point to teach our kids that there are ‘mommy/daddy words’ and ‘kid words’ and that they could curse when they were mommy/daddy themselves. Sure, they slipped sometimes, and there was that stage where my oldest daughter’s little girl voice made the words “Stand up!” sound like “Dammit!” and she chimed up with that in the middle of an award service at a very conservative church… oh my, but that was funny! Even mom laughed! But they learned, and they didn’t mimic (much), and they grew.

Into teenagers.
With potty mouths.

You’d think this would mortify me, right? Wrong. It amuses the hell out of me, truth be told. They are respectful about it, and don’t use such words in front of people in authority, their teachers, or their Nana. (Though the Boy has a habit of flipping off any camera that points his way… the last time it was Nana, and oooooooohboy. Not good. And don’t think I didn’t yell at him for it, Nana! I did!) They save it for people who they are comfortable with – their friends, me.

This is not to say that other approaches are wrong by any means. Every parent has to decide on their own what is ok, what is not, and what level they are comfortable with having in their home. My point was that the kids would hear it anyway as they grew up, so they may as well hear it from me, and learn how to deal with hearing it, or speaking it.

I think part of the growing experience when it comes to language is in it’s proper use, just like your everyday English. There is a time and place to let the profanity fly – and because I never taught them that it was wrong, but instead the times that it was inappropriate – they don’t cuss half as much as I did when I was in high school. They’ve learned to find other words to express their displeasure when the situation demands it, and that makes me fuckin’ proud as hell. (grin)

Though it still makes mom want to wash my mouth out with soap.
Sorry, Nana.
(Not really.)