Yer mom

This post is all about words that make us cringe. If words like faggot, nigger, and fuck make you clutch your pearls, you’re probably going to want to visit a different site. Thanks for stopping by!

As every parent knows, once you release your kid into the wild (e.g., school, playgroup, etc.), you are no longer in control of what they hear or see.

The horror that was visited on the entire country on September 11, 2001, seared our generation in the way that JFK’s assassination affected my parents’ generation. However, what I remember most about that time is not the death, destruction, and widespread grief. It is that my precious snowflake, Skimbleshanks, asked me if “fuck” was a bad word.

I was in the hall, busy moving furniture when Skimbleshanks stepped inside the screen door to ask his question. This distance gave me the critical time I needed to formulate my answer. I already knew that I would remain calm.

When I was in elementary or middle school, I called my older brother a hemorrhoid … at the dinner table. My father was appalled and began spluttering about what a terrible thing that was to say.

“Do you know what a hemorrhoid is?” he asked, his eyes bulging, his face red with indignation. “I’ll tell you what it is!” he continued without pause.

While my father described a hemorrhoid to me, I tuned out his outrage and clearly remember having this thought: “Man, that must be a great word to use!”

So, back to my 6-year-old. As I walked out to where Skimbleshanks stood, looking at me for verification, I said something along the following lines.

“Yes, honey. The word ‘fuck’ is a very bad word. It’s an ugly word and is usually used by people who don’t have the imagination to come up with a better one.”

I paused to make sure that he’d taken all this in.

“Tell me … where did you hear that word?”

“[Neighbor girl] told me.”

“Really? Well, let’s go talk with her about it.”

I knew that I was sailing into dangerous water by taking this step. Talking to a child who is not your own about things like swearing, stealing, and the like can end … badly.

“Hey, [neighbor girl]. Skimbleshanks just asked me if the word ‘fuck’ is a bad word and said that he’d heard it from you. Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“Well, can you tell me where you heard it?”

“I heard it from [another little girl in the neighborhood].”

“OK. You guys can just hang out here for a bit. I’m going next door to talk with [neighbor girl]’s mom.”

So I schlepped next door, wondering how the coming conversation was going to go. Again, these kinds of conversations can wind up blowing up in your face.

I needn’t have worried. I explained to [neighbor lady] about her daughter’s enhanced vocabulary and where the colorful sentence enhancer originated.

“Oh, [other girl] has older brothers, so I’m sure she learned it from them.”

Any of you ever watch “A Christmas Story”? Remember the scene where Ralphie’s mom calls his friend’s mom about a certain word Ralphie had said? She told the woman, then asked, “Where do you think he learned that word.” Based on the woman’s garbled voice coming through the phone and the mother’s startled reaction, you know that the answer was, “your husband.” I wonder if my neighbor was (and is) truly unaware of the spiciness of the language used in her own house … by her and her husband.

Oh, well. I’m not about to judge. What they say in the privacy of their home … at the top of their voices … with nothing but a window screen between my ears and their mouths … well, let’s just move along.

Certain words are inflammatory, period. There was a very brief period when one of our sons would call the other a “faggot.” The time period was very, very brief. I would launch myself at the offending child and deliver this speech every time.

“I do not want to hear that word spoken in my house. It’s an ugly, hurtful word and it makes you ugly when you say it. Is something wrong with being gay? Do you know anyone who is gay? Yes, you do: your uncle. Would you call him a faggot? Would you? How do you think it would make him feel to hear that word come out of your mouth? You will not use that word. Period. Is that clear?”

As far as I’m concerned, nothing in the world is wrong with being gay. There is something seriously wrong with belittling someone and using hurtful words.

No, I’m not a Pollyanna. I know that some words (like hemorrhoid) are used for their shock value. But it’s going to be a cold day in hell before I permit these ugly words to be used in my home. Let’s take a look at three of the worst offenders, shall we?

Faggot.

Nigger.

Retard.

I will not allow these words to be spoken by anyone in my home.

Years ago two our friends were visiting. The woman, referring to the Indian husband of another woman, said that she liked to “call a spade a spade.” And then she smirked.

I confess that I was so shocked that I didn’t say a word; neither did Ed. What I did do was make a mental note to avoid the woman in the future. I don’t have time or room in my life for a racist.

Growing up as I did out in the sticks, next to white-bread suburbia, it was common to hear people refer to blacks as niggers. Not in my house, though. My older brother used the word in my mother’s hearing — once. She immediately rounded on him.

“I don’t want to hear you use that word — ever,” she said. “Would you use that word to describe Mrs. Knott? Well, would you?”

My brother admitted that he wouldn’t, and that was that. Mrs. Knott was an elderly black woman who came and cleaned our house every two weeks once my mother was working full time (this was back in the early 1970s, when virtually no one’s mother worked outside the home). My mother would prepare lunch for Mrs. Knott and have it waiting for her, a sandwich in the fridge and a can of soup, a soup pot, and the can opener on the counter. And after lunch, Mrs. Knott would have a rest on our spare bed. My mother picked up Mrs. Knott or took her home, and sometimes did both. Mrs. Knott was treated like the treasure she was.

Ed has a nephew who is biracial. When the word “nigger” was spoken in our home by one of our sons, I asked him if he would call his cousin that name. My son thought about it and admitted that he wouldn’t. I said that it was an ugly, hurtful word and he was not to use it — ever — to describe someone who was black. If the person was a jerk, use that word; if he or she was an asshole, use that word. Ugly? Yeah, they’re ugly words; however, they aren’t hateful.

When I was growing up, you’d hear the word “retard” (pronounced ree-tard) several times during any given day. It was an accepted word to use to describe someone who was stupid, obtuse, dense, or otherwise not very good at using his or her brain.

Now, I cringe when I hear “ree-tard,” because I know people whose thought processes are damaged or impaired. I worked as a lifeguard one summer, and one of the kids had been in a car accident that had left him with a head-trauma injury. This 18-year-old young man was on the threshold of his life as an independent adult. Instead, he had a limp, a damaged arm, and impaired thinking. It seemed to me that he’d already been through more than enough pain. Only a sadist would add to it by calling him a “ree-tard.”

My father had a stroke a couple of years ago. This is a man who used to keep the financial books for two of his company’s sites. He taught me how to do my taxes. He was always — always — punctual. Now, as a result of the stroke, he is in a constant state of confusion about what day it is, what date it is, and what time it is. Dad tells me that it’s impossible to convey to others what it’s like to have this confusion. The numbers and the words (e.g., 9:00 and nine o’clock) just don’t make any sense to him. So, I suppose to some people my father is now a “ree-tard.” Ouch — even just writing that hurt.

Words can pack a powerful punch.

Now let’s take a look at the flip side. One of my sisters-in-law used to serve with the army reserve back in the day. When someone taunted her son with, “your mom wears army boots,” he didn’t bat an eye. Sure, she wears army boots; they’re part of the uniform.

It used to be that saying anything about anyone’s mom was a sure-fire way to end up in a fight. Don’t you say anything about my mom, kids (and some adults, too) would growl. I suppose some people are still touchy on that subject.

Not me. I will throw out “yer mom!” at my sons just to see them roll their eyes. Yeah, I’m weird. When they try to respond in kind, it’s a wonderful call and response:

“Yer mom!” one will say, trying to fire me up.

“Is awesome!” I’ll fire back, often singing the second word.

Words have power, whether you intend them to or not. If your special snowflake drops the F-bomb, your reaction, more than anything, will determine the course of your child’s verbal future. So explain to her what makes “fuck” a bad word. Ask him how he’d feel if someone called his friend a “nigger.” Explain the ugliness behind “ree-tard.”

Then lay down the law.

My law is: treat others as you’d like to be treated.

What’s your law?