Cussing

For Annie, featuring an appearance by our dear one, Patsy.

This isn't something I'm especially proud of, but, I can cuss with the best of them.

Maybe it was because my grandfather was a sailor, and he taught my mother some of his most descriptive curse words. During my tender years, I absorbed each of them from her as rapidly as a clean sponge soaks up whiskey. I didn't start cussing on a regular basis, however, until after my dad died. My mother, sister, and I were thrust into survival mode overnight. Suddenly it was acceptable, and perhaps even appropriate, to use tough language. It matched the mood of my heart.

My father, on the other hand, was a shining example of Christian gentility. He would have rather bitten off his tongue than cussed. Not only did he feel that it dishonored the Lord, but he believed cussing made one seem coarse and unloving. In the 11 years that I knew him, I only ever heard him utter one swear, after an 18-wheeler nearly side-swiped us on the I-40 interchange. Never mind that we had nearly been killed; I was so stunned by his emphatic word choice that I gave him the silent treatment the rest of the day.

Oh, the irony.

After I had wandered outside of the bounds of my religious upbringing for several years, I recommitted myself to Christianity and tried to break some of my bad habits. That included cussing. I had gotten so good at it - so lyrical, so creative - that using substitute words was nearly painful. It was like going on a diet and quitting smoking on the same day while shakily tearing open packs of no-calorie sweetener to pour in a cup of decaf coffee.

I still struggle with a desire to curse, but it's gotten easier with time. My favorite swear substitute is "turkey burger." It has a fair amount of syllables and good mouth feel. Try it in a sentence:

Some turkey burger scratched my car with their buggy!

If that turkey burger grabs my rear end one more time, he's going to be wearing his turkey burgers for earrings.

After she ruined my in-home party, I told that turkey burger she could take her overpriced essential oils and shove them up her turkey burger.

Don't you feel more holy already?

I also utilize a considerably more mannerly trick that my paternal grandmother employed. Mammaw would drop the middle phonetic section of the "S" word to rob it of its impolite power. She pronounced it "shhhhh-t," which always sounded to me like a short-tempered Appalachian librarian reprimanding a noisy patron. Even then, that word was only used sparingly. I wondered if it was respect for my father that kept Mammaw’s cussing in check. He was often the placid influence on our passionate, sometimes reckless, family.

Several years after my grandmother's death, my aunt and I cleaned out the cedar chest that had sat at the end of her bed. Mammaw had saved every church bulletin, school play program, and greeting card that anyone had ever sent to her. She had even hung on to the invitation for the Sweet Sixteen party that she hosted for me. I hadn’t seen most of the things in the chest for at least 2 decades. As I reminisced, I wiped away gentle tears as I thought of her adding each memento.

Mixed throughout were cards from her longtime boyfriend, whom she had dated for many years after my grandfather had passed away. Not thinking, I opened one and glanced at the inscription inside.

Mammaw’s boyfriend had given himself a rather racy nickname that definitely included a cuss word. It was both descriptive and boastful.

"What you got there?" my aunt asked.

I handed her the card her mother had received. She read it silently. Our eyes met.

"Why don't I just get rid of that?" she said.

I nodded. Sometimes, cuss words just aren't appropriate. Especially when you’re still too young to hear them.

September 30, 2021