Commentary by Danielle Wilson
For the fourth New Year in a row, I’m vowing to curtail my cussing. Not go cold turkey or anything, just ease off on the R-rated material. I’m already anticipating problems, though. One, because I actually like swearing. And two, occasionally I just need the release that only a perfectly lobbed f-bomb can bring.
Let’s be honest. Being a parent requires you to constantly censor yourself. Children are impressionable tattletales who will gleefully rat you out to any neighbor, teacher or priest. Not my kids, mind you. My darling angels think it’s hilarious when I call someone an a-hole. It’s other peoples’ kids you have to beware. For example, you slam your hand in the mini-van door while carpooling to dance. Even though Myth Busters proved that cursing increases pain tolerance, you can’t yell “c%#*s@!*&er,” because Suzie will tell her straight-laced mommy that you have a potty mouth. And then you’re back to driving both ways, all five days. He*& no!
But my youngest is only 12, which means I still have a few more years before I can conceivably speak an unforgivable in front of her friends without the potential of being ratted on. That’s entirely too long to be limited to ineffective “darns” and boring “fudges.” Bottom line? It’s simply not possible, or even healthy, to expurgate my vocabulary. This is how the crazies on the clock towers are formed. They repress their true feelings for decades and end up sniping passersby.
I don’t want to be a clock-tower killer. I believe it’s better to release the rage in small doses. I also think that when used appropriately and with solid comedic timing, foul language is hilarious (exhibit A: George Carlin). That’s why I love my family and coworkers. They get it. They know that swearing is simply a punch line, a vent, or a colorful way to say you’ve had a hard day.
But I recognize I probably need to take it down a notch. When you come close to using the c-word in church, it’s time to re-evaluate! Here’s to a classier 2017! Peace out.