This post is dedicated to the memory of Anthony Bourdain. A fellow writer and one cool cat. He always knew how- and when- to swear. RIP, man. We will miss your honesty.
When I was a kid, I never swore. I was blessed with a father who abhorred foul language. He was such a puritan that he even detested the phrase “Shut Up!” and forbade us from ever using it.
His strongest curse words were “son of a buck” or “son of a beehive.” I can never remember him using “damn” or “hell,” either.
He influenced by example- and I wanted his approbation, as well. Throw in the fact that I was a conscientious little prig of a bluestocking who honestly believed that she would go to H-E-Double Hockey Sticks if she ever uttered a “swear” and you’ve got a picture of my convent-approved vocabulary all the way through my college years.
Back in the day, I wouldn’t have dreamed of cursing.
But somewhere along the line, as an adult, the prude in me faded away.
And suddenly, my vocabulary got saltier, richer and much more descriptive with the addition of profanity.
I downright LOVE to curse. It just feels so exactly right. But don’t get me wrong. I don’t swear indiscriminately. I’m careful- most of the time.
But sometimes the only right word is the F word and I’ve just got to use it.
WTF, NO F#$%ing Way, That’s So F@#*ed Up.
All terrfic expressions.
And remember the old canard about swear words being the sign of a poor vocabulary?
Sorry, but I’ve just got to call B.S. on that, man.
I have an enormous vocabulary. I am never at a loss for le mot juste.
But sometimes, merde is juste the right mot.
Quelle shocking, n’est-ce pas?
Nothing makes the point better than some of the choice words I was forbidden to say.
I do have some foul mouth ground rules.
- No swearing in front of the kiddies.
- No cursing in front of the elderly.
- No bad language in front of strangers.
Two-Faced Sidebar: I have to say that, sometimes, the people who act the most shocked at bad language usually have the most unseemly skeletons in their own closets. I know a few people who recoil in horror at the “F” word and yet have no trouble with sketchy behavior. Not using “bad language” is no guarantee of a Good Samaritan, trust me.
So here’s to using every word- be it blue, bad or salty- if it suits the ocassion.
And Dear Readers, please don’t be offended when I say that I f&%*ing love you guys.
Now here’s another G.D. genius.
(You may want to cover your ears- but not your mind.)
Here’s a good lecture on the proper use of f**k.
https://youtu.be/wIiutYIP9Rw
Have a f**king great day.
Thanks, Mitch. Great addition to the f%^*ing blog this morning. 😀
At what age do you define “the elderly”? How close are we?
You’ve made me think about this, Fred. G[# D%*+ it! Now I can’t swear in front of myself. Curses!
Witnessed greatest Tony moment ever. Robert DeNiro trumped all. Broadway League’s standing O Hero. The power of that word.
Right on, ML! Glad you were there to witness the power of free speech. The front line against dictators. 👍
I think many of us are getting close to elderly, although I’m not sure what age we cross the line. But since I’m in my 70’s, I think I’ve crossed the line already. I prefer to use the term, older folks, than elderly. Doesn’t it sound better?
Both my parents were like your dad, Ellen. I never heard them swear, although they weren’t prudes by any means. We weren’t allowed to swear either. In fact, I got a bar of soap swiped on my tongue for saying “shut up” to one of my siblings. The phrase was forbidden in our home as it was in yours.
I was told to “shut up” the other day by someone on FB who was having a hard time believing that Bush and Obama didn’t have a law or policy of separating children from their parents. Someone came to my defense and told the guy that by telling me to shut up he was acting like Trump. Ha!
I think an important part of growing up is knowing what can be said when, don’t you? For instance, we might also want to be careful about swearing or saying shut up around people at work, especially bosses/supervisors.
Once in a while it’s good to swear just to show our parents, in case they’re listening in, that we’re grown up and can do what we want now without fearing the bar of soap.
Thanks for your thought provoking post today, Ellen.
Glad this post was thought- provoking. That’s a high bar and I’duje to think I hit it once in awhile. And on reflection, seems to me that I’ve tasted a bar of Ivory once or twice back in the day. Can you imagine doing that now? DCFS would be called in immediately. Rules of child-rearing have sure changed.
Thanks for your input, Susan. Always a welcome and fascinating addition to the post.
Yes, rules of child-rearing have changed, although I don’t resent the swiped bar of soap, which surprises me. I hope you don’t resent the bar of Ivory either. I don’t think it happened often to us either because as children we quickly learned to always be aware of where our parents were. I’m sure you and your brother did, too. I know I never said shut up again in front of my mother, that’s for sure. Plus, the bar of soap leaves a better memory than my memory of seeing the black eye on a high school friend where her father punched her.
It’s too bad we weren’t closer in age and friends during our childhood. We could have easily met at the entry to Indian Hill Club with our bikes and biked around the club. I even did that as an adult when I visited my parents. Woodley (?) Road was also a favorite bike route of mine, which would have been another good place to meet with our bikes. I watched some of the houses being built in the 50’s, including the one in the shape of a “U” with the middle built over a swimming pool.
Thanks, Susan. And you’re right. I don’t resent the “soap” thing. Although I still chafe under the “Children should be seen and not heard” rule. Perhaps the origin of all my writing?
And I wish we had met back then, too! Sure glad we know each other now.