Saturday 13 December 2014

Dropping the f-bomb


I think I broke my mother. Well, not broke her exactly. Maybe cracked her a bit.  Corrupted her a wee tad. And it’s all because of my penchant for bad language.




I say fuck a lot. I say fuck a real lot. In fact, I say fuck so fucking often that my mother has become desensitised to hearing me say it. She no longer tut-tuts, or reminds me to watch my mouth. She doesn’t give me a disapproving look. She doesn’t even flinch. You know how there’s been about fifteen million pieces of research into how constant exposure to brutally graphic computer games and death metal causes teenage boys to become indifferent to violence? Well, it’s like I’m the Postal 2 of language and she’s Justin Bieber. Truly. These days, sometimes she even SAYS fuck.



When I was growing up, our household was the quintessential middle-class suburban family. No swearing was tolerated. I distinctly remember being dragged to the pink pedestal basin when I was eight or nine to have my mouth washed out with soap. I don’t recall what I said. It might have been shit. Or bugger. It might even have been shut-up — back in the 1960s  shut-up was considered offensive language. But it most certainly would not have been fuck. Fuck came much later. If it’d been fuck I might have had to eat mustard.



We had a swear jar too. For years we all had to pay a fine every time we dropped a swear word in the house. Even Dad. If I implemented one of those in my house, we'd be neck deep in gold coins in no time.

There were also words that were not cussing or blasphemy that were forbidden. Mum couldn’t abide the word fart, for instance. It was vulgar. Crude. Unacceptable. It was right up there on her Top 10 Things Never to be Said. Or done. Actually, it was probably in the Top 5 Never to be Done. Although she did let one slip one time. Just the once.



She was clearing the table, carrying the dirty plates to the sink. She had her back to us. She must have. Because I can remember staring at the bow that held her apron tight. My brother and I were too shocked to laugh. It was as if the Queen had ended her Christmas message by mooning the Commonwealth. Unthinkable. But she didn’t acknowledge it in any way. There was no pardon me for the fluff/bottom burp/ pop-off (all of which terms could be used free of charge). She just pretended it never happened.



I discovered that other families outlawed particular words too. One mother I met disallowed the word stupid. Seriously. The designated replacement word was silly. How fucking ridiculous is that?



I guess it was probably while I was at uni that fuck became part of my daily lexicon. Ironic really. The more I studied language, the worse mine became. But I’m living, walking confutation of the theory that people who swear have a poor vocabulary thus are unable to express themselves any other way. I’m proof that it’s not only the uneducated who drop f-bombs into everyday sentences. And I make no apologies for it. 

But I am sorry that I broke my mum. Really I am. She used to be such a nice little lady before she met me.

16 comments:

  1. Oh I can really relate to this post! I Still to this day, and at 48 years old would NEVER say the 'F'' word in front of my Mum! I wasn't even allowed to ask about periods at home for fear of getting a slap! We would have really copped it if we dared to say 'shit' . Actually I didn't even swear in front of my bib sister until about 5 or 6 years ago!!! My Mum, now though has had a transformation. She is 82, and says all sorts of colourful words as well as comes out smutty innuendos! Hilarious!

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  2. Hi Again. This has inspired me for my post today. I have linked it back to your article though as you gave me the idea!

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    1. You beat me to it! I was going to ask you to tell that story. :-) Thanks for the link. maybe a few of your hordes of readers will pop over occasionally.

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  3. I can relate to this in every possible way. And in my household, there's the added joy and contradiction of belching: When Male-Cosmas the elder burps and the windows rattle, the event passes unremarked. On the other hand,when younger blips, it's death stares at 9 paces until he excuses himself. I don't get that. Oh, and fuck!

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  4. Do as I say, don't do as I do...
    It's generational parenting in action...
    xx

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  5. Oh my....I too like to say fuck alot! Also I got my mouth washed out with hot mustard for saying bugger when I was about 11. I didn't know it was a swear word cause my mom and dad used it all the time. And Dad was the one the put the hot mustard on my toothbrush. Talk about a double standard. I don't think I new what it meant until I was in my mid-twenties.
    Oh, fuck!

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    1. ...the mustard thing... kids would divorce parents for that now...

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  6. I simply enjoyed reading this post! And, I remembered, how, during my childhood, I so much as uttered the word 'stupid', my younger brother would nod his head and signal with his eyes that the matter would be reported to mother ASAP! :-)
    And, now the tables have turned! It is my brother who spews all sorts of colourful words, and I look at mother with shock and awe, as she simply turns a deaf ear to it all!

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  7. Oh brothers are always the favourites aren't they? It's so interesting that my little tale resonates in families all over the world. I love that it helps me feel connected to the universe. Thank you.

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  8. Yes! Shut up was a big no-no in our house and I have never heard my mother say the F word. Ever. Not once. How does someone get through 86 years without spewing the joy that this the amazingly interchangeable, multi-purpose F word?

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    1. I have no idea, Linda. It is, indeed, such a multi-purpose word. And thank you for this perspective. I shouldn't be apologizing for liberating my mother!

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  9. It's like we're sisters. My mom and your mom would have a lot to talk about.

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  10. I'm really enjoying reading your posts. Having a great giggle to myself.

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  11. Welcome... and thanks...
    Glad you can relate...

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