trends
“Do you know the word t, mommy?” My son asked.
We were standing in the lobby of our apartment building at the beginning of the morning light. I sighed, praying in silence for your school bus to hurry and approach the corner to end the conversation.
“Do you know that, mom?”
“No.” I yawned. “What is the word T?”
Our lobby door opened, and a neighbor passed us with us with his caniche.
“Pussy!” My son shouted with pride.
The neighbor frowned, while the poodle gave a little fail! Maybe disapproving. All I knew was that I was trying to suppress my own cortex of laughter.
“What about the word z, mommy? Do you know that?”
I breathed a sigh of relief when his school bus finally stopped outside, without wanting to guess what the word z could be.
My son is currently fascinated by the words of curse. He is 12 years old, which I remember as the dawn of the great curse of the awakening. I had also fascinated the “bad words” at their age and I have vivid memories of peancing in the mall with my friends, throwing f bombs next to the Bath & Body Works bathroom bombs. (Holy Sh*T, that the coconut of Waikiki Beach smelled like fucking!))
So, I know that your interest in blasphemies is a fairly typical behavior. However, my son is not neurotypic: it has autism, which adds another parental navigation layer to the problem. Are you simply exploring language? Examining emotions? Or simply be a child with the garbage container? It is difficult to know, and my husband and I are fighting how to deal with that. We know that we do not want to respond as our parents did, where the statement of a Cuss was on par with its boot on purpose through the TV screen. The expletives were indignation in our Catholic homes, not to be tolerated. I can remember once when I was a teenager, going down to find my mother severely standing on my younger brother, Greg. I was about nine years old and sat at the table with a face of tears. I asked him what had happened and my mother brought me a small piece of paper.
“A teacher found this in the recess court! Your brother had pushed him through a hole in the fence! Can you believe it?”
I looked on paper. My brother’s consonants and vowels said: “Gregg Gohmann. Fuck.”
When reading it, I had to work very hard to organize my facial characteristics in something equally outraged, and not let them fall into a hysterical laugh, which of course is what my face wanted to do.
Could you believe it?? It could certainly.
To be fair, I get why my parents took such a hard line in the curse. Not only were they religious, but they were raising eight very rombre and rebellious children, and I am sure they felt that if they did not draw a line in the sand, our house would sound like a sailor convention. I do not blame them for not wanting dinner to sound like the week of the fleet. And yet, I also saw how your completely failed approach.
These days, I can control my curse easily, lighting it and turning off as a (dirty) mental spike. I have never accidentally pronounced a word of oath in front of my mother. Not even the time I saw my older brother shock his head on a low roof while danced with the Pointer sisters. (Yes, the song was “Jump”) and apart from when I hit my kneecars in our bed or listen to the latest of the White House, I effort not to curse in front of my son. Undoubtedly, my husband would get an eyebrow at this description of my healthy vocabulary, but Mr. Rogers himself is not exactly. The only difference is that it is from Northern Ireland, so its oath sounds less like a damn and more as if it were citing Yeats. Also, even when I do “Slip”, my son calls me immediately, and quickly apologize, treating him as a kind of verbal flatulence. I offer an educated, “Oh apology!”
But it doesn’t matter. Our son is now in adolescence, and like me at that age, he seems to be experiencing with sounding as if he were a semi in Ohio. Until now, our response has been to calmly remind you that the curse is unpolluted and offensive for some. To which he later responds by releasing a series of expletives, stopping after each to ask about his accurate Offensive level.
I think that for my son, a great part of his interest is why words cause the answer they make. With autism, much of their daily experience is about analyzing reactions: all why and what for the human emotional spectrum. Discouraging this can feel complicated, even when we know that it is necessary to get involved with educated society.
He also really enjoys words, the more unusual, the better, which is something that I am grateful for. When he was very small, he fought to learn to speak. With the help of speech therapy, the words finally arrived, and each bobble felt like a small precious stone in my pocket. Combine all this with the fact that I am a writer who is also fascinated by the quiet sorcery of well -chosen words, and my reaction to his curse could be described as unbridled in the best case, negligent in the worst. One thing is sure, my attempt to take a language “is not fascinating!” approach and not recreate the fears of infernal fire of my youth. Because it’s a bit difficult to frame it screaming “Shit!” Together with the CVS nurse who gave him the flu vaccine as a mere affection for the miracle of communication.
That said, there are studies that show that the curse actually helps with pain tolerance. In addition, there are studies (I really like to cite studies when I feel that I am doing it as a father) that show that the curse can be a sign of integrity and honesty. So there, imbeciles!
The psychologist Timothy Jay is an “expert in oaths” (join the club, Tim), and believes there are many advantages to curse. “Many times you do not reach the argument about the positive uses of these [words]”He said in an interview about children and blasphemies.” Its use in humor, its use in the link, its use as a relief of pain, ventilation or frustration, I see this as an evolutionary advantage. “
How about that! “Shithead” as an evolutionary advantage!
Although in the same article, Dr. Jay reminds us that it is the parents’ work to teach their son the nuances and the language label. Which, of course, is true. But let’s be realistic, sometimes that work can want to put a sweater in a cat while it is drunk and underwater. It’s complicated!
As with many things with our son, he is likely to think a little out of the box and some time to grow. And really, if I am completely honest, I must admit that a part of me feels a small stab of happiness that has reached this “milestone.” Parents of children with disabilities tend to delight in each step of development, both good and garbage.
The other night, while I saw my son send text messages in silence to his friend “Dammit”, spot his naughty smile and found myself thinking about my younger brother and he pushing that role through the fence so many years ago. While the nun who discovered it may have declared it profane, really, what was that little scrap was a mini declaration of independence of a word. Just as I think the curse can be for many children. His little way of trying power. To see what a little rebellion feels like rolling in his mouths of gap. Because the word F, in all its innumerable meanings, can mean something completely different for children: a little freedom.
Johanna Gohmann lives in Brooklyn with her husband, her son and a Betta fish called Bissell. His writing has appeared in the New Yorker, McSweeney’s, and The Wall Street Journal, and is the author of the next Humor Book, All Ddlers Are Scorpios: An Astrological Guide to Your Adorable Tiny Terror.
PS: What does it feel like having autism?
(Photo of Kelly Knox/Stocksy).
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