Two little dudes playin’ in the bitchin’ closet.
A three year old’s language skills are something of a wonder. Piece-mealed fragments of sentences joined with the wrong use of tense make for a wonderfully comedic take on the English language. Take my oldest son for example, last week I was sitting on the couch enjoying CBS Sunday Morning trying to focus on my delicious coffee and the eloquent construction of stories that can only be told on a platform such Sunday Morning, when my son came over to my wife and said “Mommy, we’re playing in the bitchin’ closet”. Being caught with my attention somewhere else, I brushed it off as if I had just heard him wrong. My wife did the same although we both looked at each other wondering if we’d heard what we thought we had heard. My wife then said “What was that honey? I didn’t hear you.” Oldest repeated himself… “we’re in the bitchin’ closet. Me and Jasper are playing in the bitchin’ closet.” Okay, I know what I’ve heard now. My initial thought was, “damn right that’s a bitchin’ closet, I built that myself. Holds all of our shoes and winter jackets; I can put my hats and gloves in there. Damn right it’s bitchin’.” Then I realized that what Oldest meant to say was that they were playing in the “kitchen closet.” My wife quickly corrected him and explained to him that the term “bitchin’” was a bad word and that what he meant to say was “kitchen closet.” Not thinking anything of it, Oldest returned to the “bitchin’ closet” to resume whatever game of forts or monsters that he and his brother were playing, none the wiser.
This whole tale got me thinking about my relationship to profanity and how it impacts my theories on fatherhood. It was the first time I’d heard my son use any language that could be considered profane, even if he did it accidentally. I found the whole experience both funny and concerning at the same time. When I was a kid, swearing was always known to be off-limits in our household. It wasn’t necessarily a religious thing, but it was a respect thing. I remember my father sitting me down one day and telling me a few words that I would hear in the coming years and he wanted me to know which words were the ones that I shouldn’t use. I couldn’t have been much more than 5 or 6 years old. “Hell, damn, and shit are a few of the words that you will hear as you get older. You should know that these are not words that you are allowed to use.” I don’t know if he was just uncomfortable going a little further into some of the more profane words such as the ones famously used by George Carlin in his “7 Dirty Words” sketch, or what, but I did know that it was my father’s attempt to make it known that language was something to be respected and “even if I didn’t tell you all the words you shouldn’t use, you’ll know quickly as you get older which ones are appropriate or not.”
I respected this rule in my household almost perfectly over the years with only a few slips of the tongue resulting in whatever consequences were right for that age and that time of year. I remember them because they were so rare. But, as I’m sure is the same with many people, when I was away from home my language was something else entirely. I got very comfortable with many of my father’s lesser desirable words and used them all with much regularity. This habit went on for many years through college unchecked until I arrived at parenthood’s doorstep. The nice thing about having a newborn is that time gives you about a year to really get your tongue under control before you have to really start to watch what you are saying. It’s a weaning period if you will. Get it all out now, because in the near future, you’ll have a little one following you around and mimicking everything you do and say.
But what does it all matter? Who cares if you use Carlin’s dictionary? What’s the big deal with stronger words that are used for emphasis and often times help to convey your true feelings in a cathartic sense? Words are just words after all, right? Well, yes and no. Obviously words play a major role in all of our lives, and the context in which they are used, to me, is paramount to the actual words that are used. For example, if I were to allow a completely open use of the English language in all of its colors and variety, and my children were set free to curse wildly and without repercussion, I know that one day this will backfire on me in an embarrassing and public sort of way. I know my oldest would come running out of the bathroom at some family birthday party telling all his cousins that he just got done “takin’ a shit.” He would run by his great-grandfather after his cousin who just stole his toy yelling at him to give him “that damn race-car back.” Or, worse yet, we’d be at somebody’s wedding right at that critical “I do” moment and he’d inform me loudly that “I have to take a piss, so where the hell should I do this?”
Contextually, his maturity level is far from adequate at this young age. For this reason, I’m doing my best to watch my tongue and hold back my colorful use of language until he’s of a level of reason to be able to understand the appropriate use of such words in certain places. When he knows that he can’t use profanity at his cousin’s birthday party, or his aunt’s wedding, then we can begin to have a conversation about the appropriate time for such relaxed standards.
It took me many years to feel comfortable saying most anything that I want around my parents. I’m still withholding some language out of respect but have relaxed many of my standards as they have. This trust and understanding between us has allowed us to have some wonderfully deep and honest conversations. I look forward to those with my boys. I also look forward to the day that my boys and I can get worked up over a shitty call made by a bad ref at a critical juncture and express that disappointment with a wide variety of choice phrases, but until I feel like they are smart enough, mature enough, and respectful enough to know when those right and wrong moments are, I’m holding them accountable for their mouths for the sake of my public humiliation and your ears.