I’ve tried to figure out whose fault it is. But I sense there’s enough blame to go around.
I think it started with my grandma. She lived across the street from us as we were growing up, and we’d often walk over and spend our days at her house. Her house was more fun, with an “arts and crafts” room just for us, and cupboards stocked with items of zero nutritional quality.
But one day, I said the word “crap.” I don’t remember learning the word, or thinking of it as “new” in any way. I just said it, because something was crappy, and I’ve always felt strongly about conciseness and intentionality of language, even as a first grader.
She told me I shouldn’t say it. It was a “bad word.” And my mind was blown.
There were words, that we weren’t supposed to say, because they were bad?!
What made them bad? How many words were there that fit this category? Had I been using others and just didn’t know? And why in the hell had I not heard about this before?
My grandma was stressed by the ordeal. She strongly believed children’s curiosities should be fed and fanned (hence the art room), but this was quickly going in the wrong direction. She began listing some of these bad words, but only by their first letter, prompting me to begin an endless guessing game.
I went home to ask my mom about these words. She was pissed. It turned out, she was a frequent user of many of these words. She just never told me they were bad, so I hadn’t cared so much about them. But now I knew. And I wanted to know everything I could about this forbidden language.
I eventually gave up this pursuit, as kids do, and moved onto something else. I learned along the way that there were some places you didn’t say bad words, like fancy places and grandma’s house (though, my other grandma was quite the bad word aficionado, so apparently grandmas were a case by case scenario). And I learned that my immediate family was quite comfortable with all the words, my mother being most fond of “son of a bitch,” which was never really directed at a person, but a reflexive, under-her-breath muttering. We weren’t fancy people. Fucks were just fine at home.
So…this is a long way of saying, it’s not my fault I swear like a sailor. If we learn language from our families of origin, it’s no wonder I find it challenging to speak freely without using the full extent of the English language. I thought I might be cured by this through seminary, and my entrance into ministry. But it seems to have only become worse. When you deal in a profession of words, to leave so many beautiful, descriptive, right-to-the-fucking-point words out based on their “goodness” or “badness” seems shameful.
So, if you’re offended by bad words, I am sorry. It’s never my intention to be offensive. Probably just don’t keep reading my writing because…well…shit gets worse from here.