My Kids Cuss a Little Bit
When I was a kid, my parents never cussed around me. Ever. I don’t recall any adults cussing in my or my friend’s company throughout all of my childhood. I suppose there was the occasional “damn” or “hell” or sometimes even “shit” but it was always in hushed tones, and followed by quick apologies.
I was twelve years old the first time I remember cursing. I said “F#ck it” about something or other. It felt so naughty and badass. It was harmless rebellion and it was exhilarating. I instantly fell in love with the word the f-word in all its forms. It’s the most wonderfully versatile word, I think.
Still, I never cussed in front of my Mom. She’d have shit herself. I’m certain she knew that I cussed when I was with my friends, but there was an unspoken ‘Don’t cuss in front of me’ policy that holds to this day. I never wanted to disappoint her, so I was always mindful to bite my tongue when what I really wanted to say was “A 10:30pm curfew is total f#cking bullshit, Mom!” What came out instead was, “That really sucks but fine, whatever.”
When my husband, Garrett, and I became parents, I didn’t spew profanities with the kids around. Garrett, in contrast, cussed more than he ever has in his life. “Dude, with the ‘F-bomb’! They’re going to say it if they hear you say it! They’re sponges!”
He would respond with “F#ckity-f#ck-f#ck-f#ck!” He’s never censored himself. He doesn’t call swear words ‘bad words’. No, they are just words with appropriate or inappropriate times to use them. An example of appropriate times would be ‘almost always’. Inappropriate occasions would be ‘in the company of our priest or grandmother-types’. He’s a grown-ass man who is wholly entitled to his own opinions. Eventually, I stopped scolding and started joining him.
The first time my Mom heard one of her granddaughters cuss was, spectacularly, on a Christmas morning. Our then two year old looked at a gift that she’d just ripped into and wondered, “What the f#ck is this?” You’d have thought my Mom just witnessed our child bite the head off a newborn baby kitten. My Mom gasped. We ignored it.
Five of our six kids have cussed at some point. The youngest is two now so it’s only a matter of time. We don’t freak out if they call a sibling an asshole- they’re probably right. We don’t reward them, but neither do we punish them. They know not to cuss at their friend’s houses, certainly not at school and, for the love of all things good and holy, never around my Mom. In our home, though, it’s not that big a deal.
I’m more concerned with them caring about the people around them than I am about them using subjectively offensive words.
Did they stick up for a kid who was being bullied? Were they kind to the new kid? Did they hold the door for that old lady? That’s what’s important to me. I could give two shits if they ask, “Where the hell is the damn syrup?!”
There are those who will vehemently disagree with our parenting decision here. That’s okay. Their opinion of me and my kids is none of my business.
My kid may tell me that my tacos ‘tasted kind of shitty tonight’ but he’ll also tell me about how he gave a classmate $5 of his birthday money for the book fair. And then he’ll get a cookie and a fist bump for his good deed after he feeds his shitty taco to the dog.
Tara Wood is a freelance writer and mother of 6 kids and one husband. She enjoys keeping her kid’s names straight and forcing her husband to maintain his sexy figure. You can read more of her words at Love Morning Wood. You can also find her on Facebook and Twitter.
