Swearing

Unlike many of their contemporaries, my sons are not very well versed when it comes to profanity. Even within the scope of relatives, I've been told that my niece's children out on the East Coast -- who range from both older and younger than Marty and Casey -- have the vocabulary of proverbial sailors.

Marty and Casey aren't even entirely sure what qualifies as swear words. Its not because their parents are against profanity. Amy has no qualms about utilizing the full array of curse words, and I have a tendency to work blue enough that I have to remember to limit the saltiness for certain settings (I've had to say the words "Sorry, Father" and "Sorry, Sister" enough times during my life that I'm sure it will be brought up during my "Defending Your Life" highlight reel.)

However, we have always made it a point to not swear around the kids if possible. That's actually how it was when I was a kid, to be honest. I still remember when I was about 13-years-old and my adult male relatives decided that I was now old enough that the didn't need to edit their language any more. I remember being more than a little surprised that the word 'f*ck' was as popular a term with many of them as it was. Suddenly, there was a lot of f*ck this and f*ck that floating around the garages and backyards. I was fairly impressed, based on how liberally they proceeded to swear once the handcuffs were off, that they had managed to keep a lid on it for as long as they did.

Lately, however, I have found that I have slipped more than normal. Not surprisingly, this has happened while I was behind the wheel. One day not that long ago, I was taking the kids to daycare in our van, as opposed to the Ford Taurus that I typically drive. Turns out that my travel mug full of coffee doesn't really fit in the cup holder of the van. As I rounded a corner, the cup and the coffee went flying. "Son of a bitch!," I let out.

Without hesitation, I heard a chuckle from the rear. "Son of a bitch," Marty said. "That's funny."
I told him that he shouldn't say that, and when he asked why not, I said that it just wasn't a nice thing to say.

"Why did you say it then?," he asked.

I never did come up with a good answer for that.

Then, not long after that, someone cut me off as we were driving to go to a movie, causing me to slam on the brakes. "Damn it!," I said, managing to stop short of unleashing a torrent of colorful descriptions of the driver of the other vehicle.

This time it was Casey that mimicked me, shouting, "Damn it!" a few seconds after I did.

When I said that they did not need to repeat me every time that I happened to cuss, Casey just smirked at me. He's a little more worldly than his brother and I'm pretty sure that he commits every slip from every adult he knows to memory so that he can impress his fellow (future) first graders.

I'll continue to try to watch what I say, but I'm sure I'll slip again. And, I'm just as sure that they'll call me on it when I do.