Swearing on the swingset

How I discovered profanity

(April 17^th, 2008 / 0 comments)

Earlier this week, Ashley walked into the house frustrated with our neighbor. She had been out in the yard with the puppy, letting some of the local kids get their eager, grubby hands on her, when the neighbor in question emerged from his house mid-way through what seemed to be a rather heated phone conversation.

To Ashley's dismay, with numerous children in various states of maturity around him, the neighbor let loose a barrage of profanity-laden threats against the person on the other end. He did so, not in the hushed tone one might expect from a grown adult with tender children's ears nearby, but with a recklessly loud bellow that the kids might have described as an "outdoor voice", were they given the opportunity.

Language mistakes happen

I have slipped up many times myself, when it comes to bad language. There have been several awkward occasions, sitting around my parents' dinner table, when I've caught myself a little too late and ended up stammering a mumbled hybrid word that sounds something like "Shi-ahhh-tupid-eee!"

I don't pretend to believe that I've ever gotten away with it. My cover-ups are nothing short of breathtaking in their transparency and lack of effectiveness. After a few silent moments, accented by occasional throat-clearings, everyone typically returns to their meals and the conversation starts up again.

A few years ago, my younger brother, in what can only be described as a complete lack of awareness, let the dreaded "F-word" fly in front of my mom. It came out with such force and conviction that he didn't even make an attempt to cover it up - just turned an unusual shade of artery and stared out of the window. I laughed - uncontrollably - my mind unable to come up with a more suitable or appropriate response.

Profanity for emphasis

There are also times when I've used swearing on purpose, foolishly relying on the harshness of the words to make my point more forceful and heart-felt. Like the time I stood in an empty parking lot under a deluge of freezing drizzle and screamed at my dad, hoping that I could somehow communicate to him how upset I felt by using words that I knew would hurt coming from his son's mouth.

Or the time I found myself on the phone at 2am, delivering a five-minute, high-volume tear against a girl that I hardly knew, fed up with the games she and her friends had been playing with me for months. Her response was "Uh...wow. [click]"

Early experiments in swearing

My older brother and I were still aged in the single digits when we first experimented with swearing. He was at the top of the crooked slide and I was spinning on the swing below him. One of us brought up what might happen if we were to use a "bad word".

I glanced around. Our parents weren't home and we were alone in the yard. It seemed like the the perfect opportunity to try it out...but what about the consequences?

I was legitimately concerned that if I uttered one of the few off-limits words I knew, I would instantaneously become a poison-drinking, smoke-belching, boil-covered, trucker-hat wearing junkie pawn of Satan. There would be no turning back once I stepped over that line and gave in to the curiosity of what it would feel like to give such foul language an audible presence.

But the urge was irresistible. I had to try it. Taking one final look around for authority figures, I gripped the rusted chains of the swing, stared at my feet and summoned all of my courage...

"Damn."

It came out as pitifully as you might expect, accompanied by one of those shivering "internal thunders" that typically happen when you have a nice pee after being outside on a very cold day. I recognized this shudder from the times I had called friends names, such as "dumb head" or "ugly face stupid", or the times I had attempted to outright lie to my parents. I knew what it was - this tingling surge sweeping up my spine - a piece of my soul was slipping away into the grips of Satan.

The doors are flung wide

I shut my eyes and waited for the inevitable cackle of glee from the underworld - the grip of cold ice around my heart - the wails of the damned, dragging my spirit into the depths of terror.

But it didn't happen. In fact, nothing happened. A bird landed on a branch nearby and chirped, peacefully going about his day of seed munching survival.

Emboldened, I tried a new word. "Sex!" I said, a little louder and prouder this time. As my proclamation's echoes faded away into the trees, I glanced at my brother, who was staring out into the distance with a faint, crooked grin on his face, as if he also expected something terrible to happen.

Nothing did, and we spent the rest of the afternoon trying out different words at different volumes and in different sentences.

"You're a damn crap turd, penis!" I screamed at the mountains.

None of it made much sense, but it was all so new and risky that it didn't matter. The thrill was that I still wasn't certain that the right combination of dirty words wouldn't trigger the cosmic response I had expected and damn me to hell forever.

Think before you speak

As Ashley went on about the neighbors disregard for the innocent minds of the children who were overhearing his conversation, I shook my head and muttered "What a disrespectful piece of #*$%" - a sudden shudder rippling up my spine.

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