Now, before you get the wrong idea about my kids, let me clarify that the F bomb was not in fact dropped by either of my kids.  Kayleigh’s harshest words are “Awww nuts” and Joseph has only just mastered the word please (barely).  So we are not raising the next batch of truck drivers or Jersey Shore stars.  I know….. regrettable.  This F Bomb just happened to be the first experience that they had with the word and it stemmed from none other than myself.

I don’t curse often.  My parents raised me to have a more than healthy terror of getting caught using bad words.  I still get uncomfortable watching a movie with my dad if they use foul language.  Even the “Oh Fudge” in A Christmas Story can make me squirm if he’s around.  This is a tradition I hope will carry on to my kids.  I want them to have heart palpitations if, as a teenager, they say anything stronger than “DARN!” when I’m around.

This is how it all happened.  I was in the kitchen emptying the dishwasher with my 3 year old daughter and my wife was back and forth loading the washing machine.  Our son Joseph had discovered early that he was a good climber and was determined to be the Edmund Hillary of my dining room table.  If a chair was left pulled even remotely out, he was on it and then would attempt to make the final ascent to the summit.  All without a Sherpa mind you.  This is an infatuation I can’t understand.  When he gets to the top…… then what? You’re on a table.  Whoop de doo.  It’s like his insatiable desire to splash his hands in the toilet.  I mean, sure it’s something to do, but I just don’t see the appeal.  So, on this particular morning, a chair was left out and we were all in the middle of other things so we weren’t paying as much attention.  I had music playing from the computer and as I lifted a plate to put it away, the music suddenly stopped and became a fizzing static sound.

Now all the rest of this plays out in slow motion in my head so you should probably picture it that way.  I turn with a confused look on my face to see why the laptop stopped playing only to discover my son….. on the table….. pouring a glass of water onto it.


This is no exaggeration.  I yelled out the loudest, most prolonged F Bomb of my entire life.  I’m not even sure the bold font, the 19 F’s and the 76 U’s really capture the true scope of my expletive.  It was an exhortation that would have made Mel Gibson blush.  I had just bought a $1300 glass of water that I didn’t even get to drink.

Luckily both of my kids are too young to know what I really said and since it’s not a casual part of my vocabulary they won’t pick it up from me.  They both, on the other hand, sure did catch the meaning of it.  Joseph froze in shock on the table and Kayleigh openly wept while the piercing glare from my wife left cigarette burns on the back of my head.  My 6 month old Mac had suffered irreparable damages and when my wife realized she had lost 4 months of work for a course she was working on, I could detect the dozens of “F Bombs” in her head wanting to make their way out.  As always though, her cooler demeanor prevailed as she employed her inner Hurt Locker to diffuse them and her work was luckily recovered.  As for me, I have to be way more careful in choosing my words.  I know that surprises and shocks are perpetually just around the corner with these two and I need to respond appropriately.  Besides, they should really learn to curse from their friends like every one else does once they are 9.