Profanity 101

I remember when I decided I was old enough to swear. I’d spent 16 years using only darn and heck, and shortly after I turned 16 I allowed myself to say damn and hell. It was such a major step toward what I considered to be maturity. I watched my adult family smoke, but never considered smoking a badge of maturity. Swearing was something else again.

The adults in my family honed their swear-word vocabulary and used the power words and phrases liberally. Hardly any of them could or would complete a sentence without a g-damn or sob (they didn’t abbreviate them, of course). The words wafted around the dinner tables, casual conversations, political arguments, anecdotes, jokes, and so forth. It seemed to me that grownups had this separate and unequal language that was reserved for them….and I kind of wanted to be mature like that.

I was too much of a “good girl” to use such language, however. At 16 it was time to stretch out. I don’t recall exactly when I first used a damn in the presence of my mother, but bless her heart, she didn’t bat an eye. Damn and hell became okay words, and I reveled in being able to use them.

I think it was several years later when I added ---- (chit, as cousin Joy says in print). I have always thought it a vulgar word, and regret that I ever started using it. But some of the funniest lines extant are those that use this useful if despicable word. I was always careful to reserve the word to private conversations. I remember one time at a church dinner one of the girls spilled a whole glass of milk on the table. I said, “Oh shoot!” Our minister was impressed. He said that not many people would have been able to resist the obvious swear word to fit the occasion.

Using profanity at home was usual. I didn’t realize how ubiquitous it was, until the day my 3-year old son and I stepped out the side door, and caught sight of a blooming plant. He said, “I wonder what the hell kind of plant that is?” Ooops! Time to clean up the family language, and I did.

Almost everyone remembers the first time their offspring correctly used profanity. Three year old grandson Robbie was trying to pull up a beet, and his mother heard him say to himself, “How the hell do you get this damn fing outa here!”

And now those swear words that gave me such pleasure have been eclipsed by “the queen mother of all swear words.” And the power of that all-purpose word has been diluted until its as common as the word “the.” It’s a word I’ve never learned to use freely, and I think I’ll keep it that way. I reserve it for really serious situations where I need the most powerful of profane words to express or release the tension. But I guess I’m old-fashioned.