Can I Say Something Bad?

We were trying to get our nine year-old twin daughters ready for bed Halloween night, but things weren’t going well.

They didn’t want to take off their costumes and get ready for bed. They were so upset about our dog Oreo’s injury. We tried our best to keep them moving, but it’s not every Halloween that your dog gets attacked by another dog. They just wanted to talk about what happened.

The brunette twin was standing in the bathroom when she said, “Can I say something bad?”

I said, “Sure baby.”

She said, “I hate those stupid, f*!%!ing people.”

I was going to say that we don’t call people ‘stupid,’ when the rest of her statement sunk in.

I said, “Excuse me? Where do you hear talk like that?”

She replied, “Uncle Dave talks like that all the time.”

Sigh…

We all have moments where we have potty mouths on my side of the family. I don’t swear a lot, but when I’m overtired or frustrated or annoyed or mad, I can throw in a few choice words.

I realize it is the sign of simple mind.

Some days it’s just an easy way to express myself when I’m too distracted to find a more appropriate word. Some days it’s just the most descriptive way to describe something. I don’t do it in front of the girls, though. I’m careful about that.

I call it channeling my inner-Dad. My father always swore. I think he probably started because it annoyed my paternal grandmother so much. After a while, it just stuck. He used swear words as all sentence parts. Nouns, verbs, adjectives and adverbs could all be replaced by a choice, unrepeatable word. For him, being tired or frustrated or annoyed or mad had nothing to do with how often he swore.

We learned to swear with Dad at a young age. I always tell my stories about watching hockey with Dad. He would get so mad, he’d swear at the TV. If Mom was in another room, she’d say, “What happened?” We’d reply something like, “A))hole missed the shot.” We were little, and didn’t know what we were saying. We were just repeating what Dad said.

I didn’t realize it was really a problem until I ended up in the principal’s office in kindergarten. A quick phone conversation with Mom and I was back in the classroom with a stern warning about my language. It made for an interesting dinner conversation, that much I remember. We had a long chat about what Dad says and what we can repeat.

As we got older, we learned to distinguish between ‘things Dad said’ and ‘things we should say.’ I’m not saying we never said any bad words; you can be certain that we said our fair share while watching hockey with Dad. We just made sure not to get caught by Mom.

Now it’s my brother Dave’s turn to carry on the family tradition. I explained to the brunette twin that while Uncle Dave might say certain things, it was never okay for her to repeat them.

She said, “I know, Mom, that’s why I asked if I could say something bad.”

Seems that she knows the lesson and how to get around it. Turns out I need to think a bit more before I answer her questions from now on.

Shari is mom to twin third grade girls, a marketing communications consultant, and a community volunteer. She blogs at ‘Get Out and Have Fun Around Chicagoland,’ ‘OMB’ (Oh My Books), and her personal site, Two Times the Fun.