The Day My Kids Learned to Swear
We’re just settling into a booth at Frankie & Benny’s for lunch when I make the mistake of the decade. I say:
‘Okay, while we’re waiting for the lady to take our orders, why don’t we play....FAVOURITES! Right, kids: who are your favourite... er...Disney Princesses!’
My son (age 7) rolls his eyes and says: ‘Booooring, but I guess I’d go for Aurora because she was cool in that film where the evil queen had the horn.’
I smile a bit awkwardly, as I know what he means but can’t help but focus on what he’s actually saying. Then, the screechy voice of my daughter (who is 3) interrupts my train of thought.
She says, quite loudly: ‘I love Supunzel bepoz her hair is full of shit.’
The couple at the table next to ours give a bit of a giggle, but I shake my head and put on a stern expression (slightly offset by the fact that both my children are looking at me with very serious, earnest faces).
‘Please don’t say ‘shit’ – it’s a bad word, and Sapun – I mean Rapunzel – has beautiful hair, and it’s not full of anything.’
‘The pwince climbs up the shit in Supunzel’s hair to get to the tower, daddy.’
Now my son is laughing, but she’s said it twice, and I’m getting a bit cross.
‘Shit is a bad word,’ I warn her, blissfully unaware of the fact that I’ve now said it twice myself. ‘There are lots of bad words, and one of them – are you listening to me – is SHIT. Do you understand? SHIT is a swear word.’
It’s then that I realise both children are looking past my shoulder. I turn to see a waitress who, judging from her expression, thinks I’m teaching my ridiculously small children how to swear.
‘Sorry,’ I say, feeling my face flush. ‘Could you come back in a few minutes?’
She hurries away, which is when two loud and burly young lads come barreling through the main door behind the booth, pushing and shoving each other in a jokey way. One is a big lad, the other very skinny. The big one, quite oblivious to the fact that there are children just out of his field of vision, says to his mate: ‘You’re such a dick.’
His friend shoves him back, and replies: 'I’m a dick? You’re a fat cunt!'
They both laugh, but I’m not looking at them: I’m looking – with horror – at my children.
Thankfully, my son is engrossed in the menu.....but my daughter says: ‘Fat cunt,’ out loud.
I glare at her. ‘We do NOT say that word in this family.’
‘Is that boy a fat cunt, daddy?’
The two lads, who suddenly realise that there are children close to them, immediately move away, laughing nervously but digging at each other for being stupid.
I turn back to my daughter, but my son gets to her first.
‘You DON’T say that word!’ he shouts. ‘You are too little to say that word, and it’s mean!’
I am quickly overcome by a feeling of incredible pride: he’s seven years old, and some kids of his age would think that swearing was cool.
Then things get a bit complicated.
‘They told us all about it in PE,’ he says, looking up at me.
I frown at him. ‘They did?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Er...are you sure about that? Are you sure it was THAT word?’
‘Yes!’ He turns back to his little sister and points an accusatory finger at her.
‘It’s a horrible word, and it’s mean, mean, mean,’ he says. ‘You should never, ever call anybody fat. That boy is a LARGE cunt.’
‘NO!’ I practically shout, causing several couples to turn around.
‘Is he a LARGE cunt, daddy?’ asks my daughter.
My son doesn’t say anything but looks suddenly confused.
‘Listen,’ I say, lowering my voice to a whisper. ‘Fat is a horrible word, but cunt is worse. There are some words you just don’t say – even as an adult – and cunt is one of them. I’m serious: of all the swearwords, CUNT is the worst.’
The children are looking past me again, and this time I don’t even look around. I know the waitress is there again and I know exactly what she’s just heard, so I just think on the spot:
‘And THAT,’ I say, ‘is why you should never use bad language, especially the awful stuff you hear from your mother.’
