When I was in second grade my quasi-friend Kim and I were discussing our future children.
I call Kim my quasi-friend because, actually? I couldn't stand her. Seriously, even though we were like, seven or whatever she was a complete bitch. I was in a classroom of people I didn't know very well that year and it was either be friends with/fear her, or have to talk to Crystal, who was, at seven, like five-foot five and drank beer and threatened to kick my ass all the time. And that? Was not going to happen.
So anyway. Kim said a lot of curse words. Her mom, per her, did not care that she said curse words and let her say them at home.
This to me was just shocking and amazing. When I was five I learned to read. I was also forced to ride a school bus every day and that bus contained kids who were a lot older than me and liked to write lewd phrases in the steam on the school bus windows. I got into a huge mess of trouble when I came home and said, "Where the hell did I lay those damn papers?"
That's what I get for being literate! Or some crap!
Anyway. Kim said that when she grew up and became a mother, she was going to let her children say all the curse words they wanted.
I? Was not so sure. I mean, my parents weren't down with it. Surely it must be wrong.
Kim, in a rare act of kindness, touched my shoulder and said, "Oh! Chick! Let them!"
I don't know what happened to Kim since that faithful day in 1982. She dropped out of school at some point. I heard she was pregnant and based upon her actions in middle school, I believe it. If that's the case, her kid is like, 19 or 20 now. Maybe she's even a grandmother.
I guess I didn't really ever intend for my kids to say a lot of curse words, really. It's just...I say a lot of curse words. All the time. And you know kids. They listen. They hear. They repeat.
My kids never say curse words outside the confines of our home or our car. In fact, when we are driving to visit my parents? They always say, "Let's say all our curse words now!" and then we barrage one another with "Ass! Hell! Pumba!" until we can't stand it anymore.
I don't know why Pumba is a curse. It just is.
They don't curse at school. They never say a bad word in front of our preacher. Or my grandma. Or my parents or their cousins. They just don't.
Some people think I'm a bad mother because of this, I guess. That's probably okay, because I think that people who are really far up their kids asses all the time and insist that their children are perfect? Blow. Also? I think that people who can't have a sense of humor about anything and admit that, *GASP*, maybe being a mother or a child or even a human being isn't all sunshine and roses and Winnie the Freaking pooh? Can suck it.
Oh and also? I am around your kids. I actually, you know, spend TIME with my children. Not just mine, but yours. And your kids? In addition to saying every curse they can think of? Call people the n-word and say things that are ignorant and racist and completely redneck. Because that's what YOU are teaching THEM.
My kids can say ass all day, for all I care. Because I'm raising them so they won't be asses.
It's a fair trade, I think.