Growing up as the eldest of three sisters, I was always aware of the household rules we were expected to uphold. TV was strictly limited to designated family nights featuring enriching PBS documentaries, clothes were never to be strewn across our floors, and swearing was absolutely off-limits. The mere thought of uttering a curse word felt as scandalous as an unsanctioned trip to the candy store.
Curiously, my parents were not exactly paragons of virtue in this respect. My mom had a knack for seasoning her parenting advice with a sprinkle of expletives. “Clean up your damn room!” was a common refrain, delivered with just enough emphasis to ensure we took her seriously. My dad, on the other hand, reserved his words for rare moments and delivered them like a calm but firm character from a classic movie. “Clean… your… room… now,” was a warning that left no room for debate.
At ten, I found myself at a party where the air was thick with the sounds of unrestrained profanity. My peers, unchaperoned, reveled in the freedom to express themselves, and I felt like I had discovered a new language. Though I was cautious around my parents for years, I gradually explored swearing in a more playful, albeit mild, manner.
As I transitioned into adulthood, I became more fluent in the art of cursing, especially after marrying someone who shared my penchant for colorful language. Our conversations were often peppered with expletives, whether we were venting about frustrating drivers or discussing everyday life.
However, everything changed when we welcomed our first child. Like many new parents, I wanted to shield him from bad language, adhering to the unwritten rule that swearing around kids is a no-go. My language shifted dramatically; I became a model of politeness, even grimacing at anyone who let a curse slip in public. Without the ability to swear, my attempts to express frustration felt inadequate, like wearing a straightjacket of politeness.
Despite my efforts, my children began to pick up on swearing from their surroundings. I found it amusing when my son reported hearing the “s-word” from a friend, and instead of feeling outraged, I recognized that they were curious about a world of words that were deemed off-limits. I realized there were far worse things for them to encounter than profanity.
Instead of strict rules about language, I decided to focus on teaching them about the appropriateness of words in different contexts. Swearing might be acceptable among friends but not in front of teachers or family. Although I still refrain from excessive cursing, I’ve allowed myself to let a few choice words slip now and then, much to my sons’ delight.
For now, I’ve promised them that when they turn 16, they can explore the world of swearing—because that’s young enough.
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In summary, my relationship with swearing has evolved over the years, especially as a parent. While I strive to maintain a certain decorum in front of my kids, I’ve come to appreciate the context of language and the importance of understanding when and where it’s appropriate to express oneself fully—colorful language included.