Dad used to swear a lot.
It offended Mother and was a very bad example for all of us
children. We used to snigger, cover our
ears, roll our eyes and shake our heads as mother would chide him and remind
him that a gentleman simply does not do it.
But as loving children, we did our duty and came up with
suitable substitutions for him. It
became a family joke. Our favorite was “bug
guts”. He did try. He said bug guts a lot. But bug guts was in addition to the eff word
and a variety of other epithets.
Once the yelling and swearing commenced, children would
scatter. We would escape to a few hiding
places where we could listen to our parents fight. Or we would simply leave the house until it
was over.
During one such escape attempt, Dad standing on the landing
in front of the door in the entryway, Mother on the stairs above him, all
children in the basement below – we attempted to slip past him and out the
door. He stopped screaming long enough
to turn toward us, red faced and shouted, “Can’t you let us fight in peace”? And then he resumed screaming at Mother. Sufficiently cowed, we five retreated to the closet
under the stairs and cuddled in the sleeping bags stored there until it was over.
After prolonged exposure to this behavior, and no matter our
best efforts to avoid it, eventually we all slipped and uttered a swear
word. I still remember the shock I felt
when my sister said “shit” for the first time.
And then, feeling defeated, we all had rationalized it into full blown
swearing as young adults.
Let me tell you we are a loud bunch. And we swear in each other’s company. Dad had a prolonged trip to Bosnia compliments of the US
Navy. While there he and Elder Jeffrey
R. Holland became friendly. They baptized a guy, and they made a pact of sorts. Dad no longer swears. So now
of course Dad has progressed beyond us spiritually, and eschews
swearing. Furthermore, he condemns our “choice” to
swear. I have great optimism our own trajectories will
be similar.
I recently re-connected with a man whom I have always
revered. He’s been a touchstone of sorts who
has jerked me back onto my own path for better than half my life. No easy task for one such as I. I never told him really. And I am probably an idiot for never telling
him. He was my teacher when I was a lost
and lonely teen. And he re-appeared
again as my home teacher when I had made mistakes as a young woman. He just set me aright by giving me the
confidence to make counterintuitive choices, while those around me betrayed and attacked my
character. And during the 9-11 attacks
he was the only American online who communicated and remained logical and
supportive, while I was stuck overseas during a time of international
crisis which had huge psychic impacts on one such as I. And on the eve of my divorce he
surfaced and just forced me out of the entropy that had entrapped me. So whenever he shows up I am pretty well
buggered. When someone has that kind of
power in your life, you have to answer them.
You have to adore them. It is not
a choice. It is a deep accountability. It defies temporal explanation.
Recently this old friend showed up after a long absence and
we made a pact to stop swearing. Except “ass”
is a safeword. After three weeks, I am
confident I have replaced the old habit I inherited from Dad. I decided not to swear. I made a pact. And I haven’t cussed. I haven’t done it under the most trying of
circumstances even though I desperately wanted to. I simply decided not to because I promised my
touchstone I wouldn’t. That, and I am way
better than my Dad. That’s a fact.
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