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©Copyright 2009-2010 Out Of The Blue.
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Published: September 3, 2010
(It’s Flashback Friday!  This is one of my favs from about 5-ish years ago.)

I like using swear words. I like to use them a lot. They are just words after all.  

I married a man who shares my affinity for swear words. We both graduated with honors from the
Swearing for Sailors School. We also have four children, all under the age of nine. Motherhood has
taught me that swear words are necessary evils. It’s either drop a few four letter words here and there
or consume mass quantities of pharmaceuticals.    

I would be lying if I told you that our children have never uttered a swear word. I try not to get too worked
up about it, as long as they are used in the proper context and reserved for special occasions. I like to
think of it as teaching my children diversified language skills. It’s just plain silly to even entertain the
thought that your child will never say a swear word. Even if you don’t use such words yourself, they will
learn them at school.

Let’s face it. There are some instances in life when you need a word that fully embodies your emotional
state and “shoot!” and “durn it!” just don’t cut it. These situations call for swear words. Why shouldn’t
we afford this gift to children, who lack the advanced communication skills that adults possess? Hell,
when you look at it that way, children should be the only human beings even using swear words.  

One Sunday afternoon, on the way to Grandma’s house, my oldest son was faced with one of those
situations. He was minding his own business, contently playing with his brand new Game Boy when
his younger brother grabbed the contraption out of his hands and flung it across the van. As plastic and
computer chips sailed through the air, my oldest son dropped the dreaded F Bomb. And that was that.  
I was so damned proud that he handled the situation in such an adult manner and used the F Bomb in
the proper context. Most parents would probably have a conniption fit in this situation. I was actually
relieved that I didn’t have to pull over and threaten them both with nine kinds of torture. Better yet,
because my son used his words and not his hands, I didn’t even have to make a trip to the hospital. I
did, however, gently reprimand him, “Honey, please don’t say f*ck on the Lord’s Day.”

It doesn’t happen very often, but on occasion my husband and I have been known to utter a previously
unheard swear word. Our family was enjoying a peaceful Saturday afternoon at home. The children
were playing quietly, I was lounging on the couch, and my husband was finishing up some long
overdue chores. All of a sudden my husband let out a stream of obscenities a mile long. Most of these
words our children had heard before. But there was one new word my oldest son was hearing for the
first time ever…c*ck sucker.  He walks over to the bottom of the stairs, and with a very intent look on
his face he calls out, “What kind of sucker did you want Dad?”

I’m still trying to come up with a sucker flavor that rhymes with c*ck.