A cool thing for a parent is to see your kid’s grasp of language evolve. From being wobbly little babies who can only ask “up?”, to being people you can have a full conversation with with. They are learning new works, using new words incorrectly, and thinking they are learning new words even though they are actually just saying some nonsense sounds because they misunderstood a song lyric. Even though some things never change, as my 8 year-old daughter, Evie, still asks simply for “up” at least once a day, the days of getting frustrated because my small child can’t communicate why they are upset are gone. Here are the days where they can’t wait to tell me why they are upset. And who’s fault it is. As they get older, they are also experiencing another linguistic development – swear words.
With the ages of my kids (Lucy is 10, Evie is 8, and Brooks is 6) we are in an odd place in terms of what words they consider bad words. For all of them, “the S-word” is still “stupid”, though Lucy knows what it means to call somebody a bitch, and is aware that the word fuck exists. I found this out in a pretty heart warming way actually. We were going around town doing some shopping, and we went into a coffee shop (shout out to Scorpion Hearts Club, the Rory Gilmore latte was excellent, and yes, I ordered a latte partially motivated by the fact that it was named the Rory Gilmore. What of it?) that had some books by the counter and one of them had bitch in the title. My daughter saw this, and without saying anything, turned the book around in the rack so her little siblings wouldn’t be able to see it. Such protective instincts. It is moments like that which I must remember when she physically assaults them later. Evie saw the book get turned around and of course now absolutely needed to know what was on the other side of the book. Her older sister told her it uses an inappropriate word.
I didn’t ask her where she learned it or how she knew it was inappropriate. I assume school or a song, unless she’s stumbled upon some directors cut of Cinderella. I mean, Lady Tremaine, what a bitch, right? But regardless of where or when she learned it, she doesn’t go around repeating it. She has the awareness that not all words are appropriate for all kinds of use, and I think that is the perfect approach for swear words. I’m not going to make my kid feel bad or wash out their mouth with soap if they let one fly, so long as it is used in an appropriate time and place. If she ever calls her mom a bitch, better believe she is gonna catch holy hell. But if she comes home from school upset one day and tells me that Susan was being a bitch to her, I’ll be right there with her. Fuckin’ Susan.
Which brings us to another store we stopped in that same day. The stores in the neighborhood were having sidewalk sales, and one had a tent out front that read “Gay Shit Inside.” I have no idea if my kids saw it or understood it, as nobody made any acknowledgement of it. As we perused both the gay and heterosexual shit inside (I also assume the vast majority of their products were asexual, unless perhaps the cook books were polysexual? After all, anyone can cook.) Anyway, my daughters were looking through selections of little necklace charms, and Lucy found one that was simply the word “Fuck.” She picked it up, looked at it, and said “Fuck. Huh.” She put it back without question or comment and continued her search for a puppy charm.
I love that response. It is just a word. As if the charm said any other word that held no meaning for her, like taxes or fiber. Ah, to be young. Words have the meaning we give them, and she has given that word no meaning. And as far as I know, I haven’t accidentally passed along any meaning for it. I may have mumbled a few slightly stronger than PG words under my breath over the last few years, but I have really tried not to outright let a an F-bomb fly. Or even tamer language for that matter. I’ve probably dropped a “What the hell?” a time or two, or sounded like Joe Pesci in Home Alone while they tried to “help” me put together Ikea furniture, but for the most part I watch my language around my kids. I find myself saying things like “sweet Mary!” or “what the what?” in place of other phrases I would have used in a childless environment. Though a few days ago, I did let something slip that was repeated back by Lucy.
Apparently 10 is the new 13, or maybe it always was, or maybe my daughter is just developing her teenage attitude ahead of schedule, but either way the eye rolls, and sarcastic responses are in full effect. The other day we were getting breakfast ready, and I don’t even remember what my wife said to her, but Lucy’s response was an annoyed and quietly mumbled but purposely loud enough for you to hear “Jeeeeesus.”
My wife looked at me shocked. I looked at Lucy in what was probably a mix of shock and disapproval. Lucy looked at the table. She tested a boundary and knew she went too far. I may let some words fly on accident around my kids, and when I’m on the golf course or watching football with my friends, all bets are off, but I always make an effort not to get theological in my swearing. It is there in the 10 commandments right up there with don’t murder somebody, so I figure not using the Lord’s name in vein is a good rule to stick by. I remember when I was Lucy’s age and playing on a football team that had 5th through 8th graders on it. As you can image, the language used by a 13 or 14 year-boy on a football field in the mid-90’s would be enough to get somebody cancelled nowadays. Something our coach told us has always stuck with me. He said he didn’t mind the shits and damns, but there were two things he never wanted to hear us say – “I can’t” and God’s name used in vein. After all, we were all good Catholic boys.
So where could my daughter have discovered this use of the big JC’s name? That would be me.
A few days before the breakfast “Jeeeesus,” I let one slip. We were all playing catch in the back yard, and it was actually a really nice moment, for a moment. All three of my kids tossing the baseball around with their old man, I mean that’s why you become a parent in the first place, right? Well, just a few throws into it, Lucy put some heat on one that was right at Brooks’ chest, and he couldn’t figure out which way to turn his glove in time and it dotted him right in the ribs. He cried, yelled at his sister for throwing it too hard, and ran inside to his mom. Lucy picked the ball up to resume our catch, and threw it to Evie. However, Evie was still very distracted by her crying brother was was not looking. The ball hit her in the face, she let out a cry, and I let out an emphatic “Jesus Christ!”
Probably not the best response on my part. Mind you, I was not Jesus Christing my daughter, but the complete absurdity of the previous 30 seconds. Regardless, it was clearly absorbed into her brain and given a context for use in a way the gay shit did not. I suppose that is a parent’s job though – to give context to things our children see and hear but don’t quite understand. Whether it is the name of the Lord or an F-bomb, modeling the use of language and giving proper context to words that have no inherent meaning to kids is important. I want my kids to feel like they can say anything in front of me, but I also want my kids to know that they can’t say anything in front of everybody. It would also be nice if they didn’t say can’t, but I will settle for them not swearing in front of their grandparents.
I Think Therefore I Dad 