Azul has been tinkering with using “bad words.” He’ll say, “I’m going to tell you a funny story, but I have to say a bad word.” Immediately he puts his hand over his mouth ready to catch the foulness about to escape and stares at me wide-eyed. I usually shrug and answer, “A bad word? Okay, go ahead.” I am always curious as to what word he wants to use, which are usually not real bad words at all, so of course I’m going to say okay, not to mention I have a potty mouth and my five year-old is well aware of that fact.
Having a potty mouth is really an understatement — I cuss like a sailor. I’m not sure if it is hereditary, my mom says I had a great-grandmother who would make a grown man blush with her colorful dialect, or the nature of the business I worked in for years (pause, deep breath) — Radio.
Some of the dirtiest things you will never hear on the radio are said when the “on the air” light is off. I have always had a fairly liberal view of off-color language. If it’s used for emphasis or to make a point or to be funny, by all means use it, be creative but never hateful.
The rule I have always had to follow at work has been set up by the FCC (Federal Communications Commission), and when Azul is older, those will be the rules I will enforce in my own home as well, much to the dismay of my husband. So for now we will follow my husband’s rules, in that Azul can’t cuss. And whatever the reason is for my talented linguistics, it is what it is, and Azul knows he should not talk like me. In one instance he questioned these rules and I replied in the most kind and gentle mom voice I could muster, “I can talk like this because I’m a fucking adult and you’re a kid.” I might have used that “emphasis” only to get his attention, and it worked. Now he resorts to prefacing his “cussing” by asking for permission.
I may change my mind once I have to start doing detention at school with him for cussing.