A Blessing & A Lot of Cursing

We all swear by it.

“Oh, shit.”

The first time we heard it, we convinced ourselves she said something else. Our 2-year-old daughter Ella was a princess of golden hair, angelic disposition and adorable innocence. She could never…

“Oh, SHIT!”

Alright, that was loud and clear. She had knocked over a tower of colorful blocks she was building, and was now making her displeasure known. And in the moment, I was actually quite proud of her. First, her vocabulary was quite advanced, the proverbial apple not falling too far from the tree. Second, the context and usage was appropriate, as I’m sure many a foreman uttered the same thought as their foundation came tumbling down.

Of course, my wife and I had to at least feign horror and shock. “What did you just say!?” Ella simply smiled, knowing the line she just toed. The seriousness of the situation quickly faded as we tried to hold back laughter, always knowing this moment would come.

Let’s be clear. I am a big fan of cursing. Many expletives have a range of adaptations, meanings and usage, giving us a colorful library to evoke intense accessories to our everyday communication. Recent studies have even shown that cursing can reduce pain, build emotional resilience and develop deeper relationships. There’s also a long and storied social taboo to swearing, making the whole affair a little more risky and fun. But I also understand there is a time and place for everything—I don’t want to insult anyone, offend a culture or debase the sacred covenant that separates humans from animals.

So when it comes to my kids, I have mixed thoughts about “cussing” (as they say in the south). Under the right circumstances and with the proper use of sentence structure and grammar, I’m all for it. But I don’t want them to get in trouble or be looked down upon for their degenerate father and his overly progressive philosophies. Maybe there’s a middle ground, some kind of rough cable TV movie edit full of “frigs” and “craps,” but I always like to go big or go home. (My oldest daughter hasn’t been bitten by the cursing bug just yet. Her favorite obscenity to date is, “Oh, biscuits,” which is unbelievably cute).

And it’s always amusing when friends or family let one slip around our kids. “I’m so sorry,” they say, as we try to pretend it’s not a frequent occurrence in our household. Unfortunately, we’re far closer to a Tarantino blockbuster than a church sermon. And while we’re certainly far from perfect, there’s no denying they will see and hear far worse things at some point in their life. If anything, maybe I’m the bumper lane of life’s bowling alley, providing some padding against the gutters to come.

So while I await the day to be called into a teacher’s office or approached by an angry parent at the playground, I’ll do the best I can with my little sailor. Words are power. Power is responsibility. Don’t be mean. Don’t be hurtful. But if you must, the English language gave us tools to encompass all our feelings and all our emotions into tiny four-letter words.

The whole container of orange juice tumbles off the counter, mere moments after Ella says she can get her own big girl cup. “Damn it!,” she snarls, looking at the sticky lagoon on the kitchen floor below.

That’s my girl.