There was no cussing in my childhood home. (There were also no sweets, no Skippy and no white bread, but that’s a separate story).
I don’t remember it being an explicit rule, the swears just… weren’t there. We didn’t do it. You weren’t supposed to do it and you knew it in your bones. The only person I remember enforcing “language laws” was Nanna, but I think it just wouldn’t have occured to us to swear in front of our parents (or even away from them).
I don’t know when that system broke down for me. Probably in my mid-teens. And I’ve never looked back.
Ready for a little reverse diatribe?
I don’t like people who don’t swear. I think it’s contrived. I think they’re missing out on the full texture of language. I think they’re missing out on the full range of their emotions. I think they’re letting certain words become taboo in their brain. And, by extension, letting certain harmless and healthy ideas, actions, and objects become taboo. And we’re already far too overzealous in tabooifying.
CBC’s And Sometimes Y recently put together two shows on this subject: on taboo words; and on the n-word. They are well-thought out and timely discussions — especially in dealing with the recurring and present question of how and whether words with a negative connotation can be reappropriated.
My personal take on word reappropriation is that we can’t or shouldn’t do it in cases where the word was specifically invented to be derogatory towards a particular group of people — the n-word being a perfect example of this (<-how much do I wish I had a different way of referring to these words, than by the 1950s schoolteacher “the x-word” formulae).
So while my list of off-limits words is teeny tiny, I am not suggesting that we should start submitting reports at work entitled “The Fucking TPS Report” (<-okay, maybe for TPS reports…). And I think that people who swear /at/ other people leave a great deal to be desired. But there are times of frustration or elation or description where laying on a little colourful language really captures the moment. And I don’t think those moments need be too extreme. There is something about calling something “fuckin’ great” that is just… accurate. (And certainly not untrue to the etymology of the word.)
Right, so. All that said, while “fuck” is certainly an active participant in my vocabulary, there are some places where I will curb its usage. The obvious places of course. But, somewhat surprisingly, I learned this week that those places include farmers’ market. Where the aggressive k’s of the expletive rub up against the happy family farm atmosphere. After sampling a scrumptious zatar-flavoured flatbread, I turned to my friend and said “that is fuckin’ delicious”.And then I said “I don’t think you can say ‘fuck’ at a farmers’ market”. And I think I was right.