Swearing and the Appropriate Use Thereof

I know that you wouldn't know it to look at me and especially upon meeting me and immediately detecting my genteel and cultured presence, but I am quite good at swearing.  People do not need to "pardon [their] French" around me as I speak the language fluently.

I do not believe in giving some words more power than others.  To me, as a writer and an editor, words are words and each have their place in our illustrious and expressive English language. 

As all in society are well aware or should be well aware, not everyone shares my taste for the delicious and delightful explicative that come to us, sometimes unsolicited, in our time of shock or dismay that is so extreme that high brow speak just eludes us and we revert to our caveman mentality and dig right into the ol' cussin' bag to get all those emotions out.

Admittedly, there have been times that I wished I didn't cuss quite so much because it's always such a hoot when the person you least suspect comes out with a real doosie.  One of our most mild-mannered and gentle community souls just whipped out the F bomb on me one day and I about fell over dead in front of the mail box.  I still crack up thinking about it.

Then there was the time all of the Queens were meeting over some such thing and our Queen Mum, Queen Elizabeth, just ups and tells us that she was in the bead shop a while back and found out what Jim Morrison [insert Katrina with a droolly expression here ] meant back in the 70's when he sang about being "a back door man."  Hearing it come from our esteemed Queen Mum made me second think the name of this column, I have to tell you, but still, lots of fun and memories that will never, ever escape me, I'm quite sure.

Even with the ease I possess in swearing, like anything, I don't believe in excess.  My third son, the 25-year-old, wears me out listening to him talk because it seems like every other word he says has a 'k' in it.  I've never heard so many variations of a basic theme as what he uses. 

When we had only been married for a year or so, my husband and I went on a trip to visit his grandmother, who is a lovely woman who lives down in Whittier.  As we were driving that long, horrible, godforsaken highway 5 hell-trap, he actually asked me if I'd mind refraining from swearing around her as she is offended by such things.  I looked at him as if he'd sprouted antlers all of a sudden because of course I wouldn't swear around Gram.  What kind of a barbarian did he think I was, anyway?  He then expressed his doubt that I *could* curb the swearing around Gram.  We're not talking "would" now but "could."    Mind you, of course I was pristine perfect the entire week we were there, but upon return, I determined that I would go for 2 months without swearing even once, which I did and thank you very much.  It showed me that I swear a lot and while did not really change how I feel about swearing, it did change how I felt about myself that I could master such an exercise in discipline.

I grew up in rural Kentucky in a predominantly Baptist community which means that we found ways to do the things we wanted to do but work the system so that it was not technically a sin.  We were very concerned about sin and didn't want to be wallowing in it, but we figured God expected us to find a loophole in the contract here and there and there wasn't any New York Lawyer Dream Team that had nothin' on us, I want to tell you.

Back then, men did not swear around women and when women wanted to swear, they would either spell it out (fully believing that God was illiterate) or substitute some lame stunt word like "fudge" or "shoot" or "fiddlesticks" or "shine my shoes" or "heck" or the ever popular "H-E-double hockey sticks."  We were all quite certain that the Lord had no clue what we really wanted to say and therefore, would not be whipping out the Holy Sharpie to make a black entry on our personal behavior logs.

I had quite an awakening when I married a serviceman and was dumped unceremoniously into the military lifestyle with its colorful language and expressive wordology.  I was on the lookout for wrathful lightening bolts to strike down around me for several months before I began to explore the other side myself.

Little Joey, who is now 29 and not so little, broke me of my parental idealistic notions on a flight from Louisville, Kentucky to Dallas/Fort Worth.  Back then, I had drifted into a rather hedonistic, hippie lifestyle, having lived on Guam for a year or so and enjoyed that military environment of which I spoke previously for a long while.  Paul might have had the military hair cut and ramrod stature, but back then (now...not so much) the heart beating in his chest was that of a free spirit rebel.  We were out to break the parenting mold by allowing our children full language use as they progressed developmentally, not curbing their exploration of the "forbidden" words but instead teaching them that all words are precious and none should be shunned.

We were getting on one of those little Buddy Holly killing planes where you had to actually walk out onto the tarmac to board rather than having a nice segue hall meet up to the plane door for transversing.  Poor Paul was juggling Joey, a couple of suitcases, probably a stroller and a few other thousand things we'd never get on a plane these days and as he was entering the plane, he whacked his head on the door jam or whatever you'd call the side of the in-hole of the plane.  Immediately, he said "Shit!" and that was indelibly printed onto the brain of my lovely little 21 month old boy, who said, "Shit shit shit shit shit shit" every few seconds of the next 1500 or so miles.  It was cute at first with the people around us tittering to one another, but about 15 minutes later, you could tell they all wanted to pry open the nearest window and vacuum suck him out into space. 

After that, my kids were all forbidden to swear until they turn 13, whereupon they are gifted with the words "hell," "damn" and "ass."  After 18, they're given free adult speech liberties.  They all did swear, of course, (I'm not stupid) especially Delena who has a word hole like a sailor, but not around ME. 

I do try not to swear around the kids and especially not to swear around other people's kids, not knowing their rules, but my kids do know I am allowed to use words that they are not.  Just as they cannot drink coffee or liquor or drive cars or vote, they also do not get to wield the mighty words when they are young'uns.

Now, I told you all of that to display my authority where the subject of swearing is concerned and to, as the title of this column indicates, give you clear instruction on when such language is appropriate if you are not one who normally engages in these luxuries.  Should you ever encounter these situations, any member of society around you should be perfectly understanding of any long string of pent up cussing in which you may wish to indulge:

There, now doesn't that feel better?

See you soon, doll.  Come by Burger Night and tell me hi!  I'll be the good looking Queen in the green GFORCE apron slinging out the potato salad.  Don't worry, my name is on the apron in case you get confused by all of the good looking women in green aprons slinging potato salad.

Be particular,