Out of the Mouths of Babes

Kerry Thomson - 27 Jan 17

Last night my four year old dropped the F-bomb. I had to ask him to repeat himself as I couldn’t quite believe what had just come out of his, until then, innocent mouth.

I was complaining about the noise from a bicycle horn he had been given for Christmas – one of those old school Chitty Chitty Bang Bang style ones where the noise just drills through your brain. ‘That fucking horn is so annoying Mum’ he casually remarked. When I managed to pick up my jaw from the floor, I asked him what he’d said. ‘Nothing,’ he remarked, with his cheeks reddening. When asked again he nervously uttered the offending word quickly followed by, ‘I heard you say it Mum’. Yes he most likely did and it will have tripped of my tongue like honey off a spoon.

When it comes to a having a foul mouth I am guilty as charged. I like to blame it on being Irish but really it’s just a bad habit that has nothing to do with my country of origin. When not around the children, or in polite company, it has become habitual to colour my vocabulary with f-words. So much so that I don’t even notice it a lot of the time. Except when I’m angry. Then my inner Hulk f’s and blinds with deliberate relish. Sometimes nothing can release rage with quite as much satisfaction as a good stream of profanities.

I grew up in a house where swearing was one of the big taboos. Both my parents found it absolutely abhorrent. The most punchy word I ever heard my Dad utter was ‘sugar’ or on a really bad day, ‘God save Ireland’…… He once made me write 100 lines for daring to say ‘fart’, a word now so commonplace that it is comfortably in most pre-schooler’s vocabulary.  It usually accompanies hoots and laughs in our household and that’s not just from the children.

So when did my mouth begin to gravitate towards the sewer? Has it become more expectable, especially for women, to swear like a navvy?  I remember when calling someone a ‘wally’ was the ultimate insult. Now my insults are rather more colourful. I suppose it was something I gradually picked up through my teenage years. Words gleaned from television, magazines and books, initially used to make me sound and feel ‘cooler’. Now I barely even notice I’m saying them. Until last night’s F-bomb.

I honestly didn’t think I swore in front of the children. I  believed I managed to bite my tongue until after bedtime. Last night’s incident showed me I was wrong. To hear such a word coming out of such an innocent mouth shocked me to the core. I didn’t find it funny or cute. It pulled me up; stopped me in my tracks. It exposed to me the true harshness and ugliness of the word. For probably the first time I realised why it is used as an insult – a perfect example of onomatopoeia that you could never have suggested in the classroom.

The English language must be one of the most nuanced, the most expressive, the most beautiful on the planet. The language of Shakespeare, Wordsworth and Hardy. With such a rich display of words to choose from, do we really need to pepper our speech with such unseemly prose?

So I’m making a pledge to myself, to try and think before I speak and curb the four letter words. To not be lazy with my language. And in those situations where nothing else will do, I can always channel my beloved Dad and growl, ‘God Save Ireland’.

Kerry Thomson

I'm Kerry, I live in the sticks in Scotland with one husband, three kids, one dog, six chickens, 200 cattle and 2500 sheep. You can read more about me and my gang on my blog www.postcardsfrommykitchentable.com

View profile for posts, events and more info