Bad Words

I hate to sound like an old fart… Wait! Is “fart” a bad word? It’s hard to keep track anymore. What once was considered a cuss word, is now part of our everyday American language.

On January 17, 1940, the movie Gone with the Wind premiered. People went to the theatre in droves, eager to see the handsome Clark Gable on the big screen. (Well, really, the only screen. Television was not yet available in most American homes. Even by 1947, only a few thousand Americans owned a television.) One of the famous lines from the movie was delivered by Gable’s Rhett Butler when he said to Scarlett, “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

Today, saying the word “damn” is inconsequential, but back in 1940, the director had to plead with the censors from the Motion Picture Association of America to allow them to keep the word in the movie. The alternative phrase, “My dear, I don’t care,” the directors argued, did not have the same impact and sense of finality that the directors were hoping to achieve in the character’s final words of the film. The censors finally relented and allowed its use but only because the word “damn” was just vulgar and not salacious. My 95-year-old friend Robyn remembers how America went crazy when Gone with the Wind was released, shocked that Clark Gable actually swore in a movie.

Isn’t that funny? The word “damn” being so controversial? Just imagine the audiences of 1940 watching an “R-rated” movie today!

The moral code established by the movie industry was used for over thirty years. It was replaced in 1968 with a ratings system that we’re all familiar with: “X”, “R”, “PG-13”, “PG” and “G” ratings.

What about bad words on television? The Federal Communications Commission (FCC) regulates television and radio content, but only for those stations that utilize the Federal government’s airwaves. This includes all the major networks and their affiliates but does not include cable stations which use wires and satellites to transmit programming to your home.

Okay. Now we’ve talked about bad words in movies and in television, but what about, you know, life? Who’s regulating the amount of curse words we hear out in the world every day?

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When I was a kid, we called it “cussing.” We were not allowed to say “bad words” or “four-letter words” at home or anywhere else, for that matter. It’s funny because today there are so many offensive bad words that have way more than four letters. The big difference between cussing back then and cussing today – besides the now lengthy number of bad words to choose from – is that when I was a kid, you NEVER heard cussing in public. At least I didn’t. I’m pretty sure I didn’t hear the F-bomb until I was in high school.

Today, it’s not uncommon for me to hear a teenager or an adult – male and female alike – dropping the F-bomb in the grocery store, the library, the mall, the parking lot, a restaurant, a public bathroom, the park, everywhere. There seems to be no public place where you can take your children without their being exposed to curse words. And though I’m tired of it, I’m no longer fazed by it. We’ve all become accustomed to this new, uncensored life.

But still. Aren’t there some unspoken rules governing the use of offensive language in public places? I only curse in the privacy of my own home or in my own car – or at least I try to limit my cursing to only those two venues. When did it become socially acceptable to curse openly in public places – especially those places where there are impressionable children? And not just bad words, but really bad words.

A few years ago, the mother of one of Meghan’s classmates told me that she was at the park with her then five-year-old son. There were a group of teenaged boys hanging around the swing set and they were cursing up a storm. Afraid to approach them herself, the mother called 911 to complain. A police officer showed up and talked to the boys and they ended up leaving the park. That’s great. Problem solved, right? But is this what it takes to clean up the language on our playgrounds and parks?

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How can we, as parents, assure that our children don’t resort to cussing themselves? Well, one way, goddamnit, is to stop cursing at home. But surely, there have to be other, far easier ways. Surely… The sad fact is that our kids are being exposed to curse words every day, everywhere. In the movies, on television, in stores, restaurants, gas stations; at school, the swimming pool, the grocery store; with their friends and with their enemies, and in their own homes. I don’t know the answer; I’m just posing the question. You tell me.

A couple of weeks ago, I was driving Meghan and her 11-year-old friend Rosie (named changed) somewhere and Rosie said, “Damn, Meghan!” This wasn’t the first time I’d heard her say “damn.”

Regardless of what I said earlier about the word “damn” being inconsequential nowadays, I didn’t mean that I think kids should be allowed to say it. Meghan pointed out to Rosie that she had just said a bad word. Rosie looked confused and said, “Huh?” Apparently, “damn” is not a curse word in her family. I explained to Rosie that we considered the word “damn” to be a curse word – one Meghan isn’t allowed to say. To Rosie’s credit, from that moment on I have not heard her utter the word “damn” again.

So, I guess I learned a lesson. A bad word in my family may not be considered a bad word in your family. I can accept that. Unless, of course, your family throws the F-bomb around all the time. That’s when I’ll have a problem with my daughter going to a playdate at your house.

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Growing up, I can remember my mom cursing only one time. She said “shit” while she was looking in the refrigerator. She had probably forgotten to buy something at the grocery store. My mom assures me that she swore more than just that one time. She also told me that her favorite curse word is “shit.” I’m thinking my dad’s favorite cuss word was “goddamnit,” only because that’s the only bad word I heard him say. But he said it a lot more frequently than my mom ever said “shit.” A lot more.

Of course, it’s not like anyone would ever suggest that I have a squeaky-clean vocabulary. When Meghan came into our lives, I made a conscious effort to clean up my language. It wasn’t the use of the F-bomb so much as my favorite curse word, “goddamnit.” That’s right: my dad and I share a favoritee bad word. Unfortunately, “goddamnit,” according to my freshman religion teacher, is the worst curse word ever because you are first, taking the Lord’s name in vain and then directing God to actually damn something to hell. The audacity of such an order! (Between you and me, God, whenever I say “goddamn” or “goddamnit,” I never mean it as a directive to You.)

I was asking my sister Julie about cursing recently and she shared a couple of instances when as a kid, she said “goddamnit.” Both times she miraculously avoided punishment because a grown-up hadn’t heard her properly. The fact that “goddamnit” is my favorite curse word and that Julie said it on at least a few occasions (that she remembers) in her childhood, is testament to the fact that bad language heard at home is learned at home, and eventually spouted out of the mouths of our kids outside of home. And probably at the grocery store. In a very loud voice. When everything else is silent. And you’re there, the subject of the glaring, accusatory stares of all the other shoppers.

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I know what they say. That cursing is a sign of ignorance, that a person who cusses is proclaiming to the world that he or she has a very limited vocabulary. I shared this bit of wisdom with a carful of nine-year-olds just last year. But I only half-way agree with this adage. I agree that a person whose every-other-word is a swear word, is definitely linguistically challenged. On the other hand, though, I think I have a reasonably expansive vocabulary and yet I experience a great deal of satisfaction and emotional release whenever I utter the word “goddamnit.”

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My brother Jeff and I were probably six- and seven-years-old, respectively, when we approached our mom with an important question we needed answered.

“Mom, is ‘fart’ a bad word? It’s four letters.” Back then, we thought bad words always had four letters.

“Well, it’s not a bad word but it’s not a very nice word,” she answered. “You still shouldn’t say it. Besides, in our family, we say ‘traf” instead of fart.”

“Why?” We both asked simultaneously.

“It’s just a nicer way to say fart.”

It wasn’t until years later that I learned it was my dad who made up the word “traf.” I guess when Julie was a kid, my dad heard her saying “fart” all the time and he wasn’t pleased. He told her that none of us kids were allowed to use the word “fart” but that we could use the word “traf” if we wanted to. “Traf,” by the way, is “fart” spelled backwards.

For years I thought the word “traf” was a universally recognized term. I now wonder about some things I may have said to my friends when I was a kid, hoping to elicit a laugh by using the word “traf.” Their not knowing what “traf” meant explains how some of my jokes didn’t get the hysterical expression of mirth I had been expecting…

Isn’t it amazing the number of decades the word “fart” has been able to create a giggle out of a child? For the past four years I’ve just had to say “fart” to get a laugh out of Meghan. In its own way, “fart” is really a very magical word.

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My sister Julie remembers being ten-years-old and sitting next to my cousin Susan, then eleven, in the family room of my Uncle Jim and Aunt Patty’s house one afternoon. Aunt Patty and Uncle Jim had eight kids, and the two oldest boys, Jim and Bill, were about eight or nine years older than Julie. Julie, Susan, Jim and Bill and maybe some other cousins were listening to an album that included a song called “Vietnam,” sung by Country Joe and the Fish and played at Woodstock in August of 1969. Julie remembers the song opening with a man hollering like a cheerleader, “Give me an F… Give me a U… Give me a C…” You get the picture. Well, all the kids in the room were repeating the lyrics like the singer instructed. They started yelling “F… U… C…” And then of course, the crescendo when the vocalist shouts, “What’s that spell?… What’s that spell?… What’s that spell?” And, of course, all the kids in the room (at least those who could spell), shouted, “Fuck!… Fuck!…  Fuck!…” (I listened to the song on YouTube and Country Joe repeats his chant about six times.)

Well, almost immediately after hearing the forbidden word but not before it had been shouted a few times, my Aunt Mary Ellen, Susan’s mom, came into the room to put an end to all the cursing. Julie recalls that Aunt Mary Ellen addressed Susan and Julie, telling them that the F-bomb was a bad word and they shouldn’t say it (or spell it, for that matter). Then Aunt Mary Ellen, acting a bit uncertain, tried to explain that even though the F-bomb was considered a bad word, it meant something beautiful. Ten-year-old Julie had no idea what she was talking about.

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My husband Pat remembers being about fourteen and mumbling “Fuck you” under his breath from the second-floor back door of their house after his dad told him to do some work that Pat, evidently, didn’t want to do. Though Pat’s dad was outside on the driveway, he apparently heard Pat curse him because he dropped whatever he had been holding and began storming up the outdoor stairs. Pat, afraid of what was coming, hurried to lock the back door so his dad couldn’t “get” him. Pat remembers his dad yelling at him to unlock the door, but he doesn’t remember what happened next. A case of suppressed memory, I’m guessing.

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My sister Julie is a retired school teacher. She told me about a rule she had in every classroom she ever taught in. The rule: if a kid said a bad word or spoke disrespectfully to a teacher or classmate, they would have to call their mother and tell her exactly what he or she had said.

One day, Julie had a Sixth Grade student named Michael look down at her (she’s kinda short and he was kinda tall) and say, “Fuck you!” She was totally shocked and very nervous. She called another teacher to cover her class while she marched the student down to the office. She dialed the boy’s home phone number and introduced herself to his mother. Julie told the mother that Michael had something to tell her that he had said in class. Michael got on the phone and told his mom that he had said the F word. Julie stopped him and instructed him to tell his mom exactly what he had said. Michael then told his mother that that he had said “Fuck you.”

Julie could hear the mother screaming at him and he started to cry. Julie got back on the phone and the mother thanked her for calling and Julie thanked her for her support. On the way back to class, the big kid, still crying, asked if he could use the restroom to wash his face. Julie said no. She knew that when the rest of the sixth graders saw big Michael’s tear-stained face, they would think twice before they ever cursed in her classroom again. And she was right. Julie didn’t have to make another phone call home for the rest of that school year.

Now, how do we get a protocol like this started in every store, restaurant, gas station…

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I looked up all the curse words I know, comparing my Webster’s New World Dictionary Second College Edition (c1984), with the online Merriam-Webster dictionary. Boy, what a difference!

The only Webster-defined “vulgar” words I found in my older dictionary were “fart” and “ass.” The only curse word, “damn.”

Then I looked at the online dictionary and was shocked to see every offensive word I could think of was not only listed and defined, but the proper pronunciation and etymology of the words were given too!

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I hope you’ll share with us some of your bad word memories. If you refuse then, well, to hell with ya!