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Why I’ve Found Myself Swearing More Around My Kids
Growing up as the eldest of three brothers, I was raised with a strict code of conduct. Television was strictly off-limits except for family movie nights filled with enlightening documentaries on PBS. Clothes were expected to be picked up, and swearing? Absolutely not. Even a stray “gosh” or “darn” could lead to a swift reprimand. The mere thought of uttering a profanity was akin to committing a heinous crime in our household.
Ironically, my parents had a flair for colorful language themselves. “Clean your damn room!” my mom would exclaim, her choice of words adding a certain flair to her parenting style. My dad, on the other hand, spoke sparingly but with an intensity that echoed the solemnity of a Shakespearean actor. “Clean… your… room… now,” he’d say, leaving no room for negotiation.
Fast forward to my ten-year-old self at a backyard party, surrounded by fifth graders unleashing a glorious symphony of expletives. It was as if I’d stumbled into a rite of passage, and I was ready to embrace it. While I maintained my decorum around my parents, I spent the next two decades perfecting my swearing skills, starting with mild curses like “Shoot!” and graduating to more potent phrases by the time I hit college.
I eventually married Alex, who shared my enthusiasm for swearing, creating a delightful tapestry of expletives woven into our daily conversations. But everything changed with the arrival of our first child. Like many new parents, we had every intention of raising him in a profanity-free environment. After all, who curses around little kids? It’s one of those unspoken parenting commandments.
Suddenly, my communication style underwent a complete turnaround. I became the embodiment of gentility, even casting disapproving glares at anyone who dared to curse in public. Without the comfort of swearing to express my frustration, I found myself resorting to contrived alternatives that just didn’t have the same impact. “Oh, fiddlesticks!” doesn’t quite capture the sentiment of “What the hell is happening?!”
Despite my best efforts, my sons inevitably picked up on the allure of forbidden words. Whether it was on the playground or through the echoes of late-night TV, they discovered that some words were thrillingly off-limits. “My friend said the ‘s’ word yesterday,” my son confessed over breakfast, eyes wide with mischief.
To my surprise, I didn’t feel the outrage I thought I would. There were far worse things I could imagine them doing than experimenting with swearing. In fact, venting through profanity can be a healthy outlet for frustration. Instead of strict rules, I decided to focus on teaching them about context. Swearing might win you friends in the locker room but isn’t exactly appropriate in a job interview.
While I don’t cuss as freely as I once did, I’ve been known to let an F-bomb slip when emotions run high. My boys exchange gleeful glances, relishing the thrill of “bad” words. And while they’d love for me to let them use more colorful language now, I’ve promised them that at sixteen, they can have their fun with expletives. Because that’s old enough to know better, right?
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Summary
In this playful reflection, Jamie navigates the challenges of swearing as a parent, from strict childhood rules to the realities of raising children in a world filled with colorful language. While initially committed to a clean vocabulary around her kids, she finds herself embracing swearing more as they grow, recognizing the importance of context over blanket prohibitions.