The other day my 1-year-old called me a douche bag. I could be mistaken; he may have been just asking for a cookie. Even though we like to pretend Dalton can say seven or so words, all the “words” are indecipherable and they all kind of sound like “douche bag.”
According to NPR, your kids curse because of—and here comes the big reveal—you. Yep, big “duh” factor. You might say, “nay, my good man, my young master and young miss acquired no such articles of offense from I. It twas from those scurvy-riddled urchins with which my successors associate.” Well, I'm sorry to tell you, as you nervously finger your cravat, they might learn bad words from the kids at school, but your kids taught just as much as they were schooled. They're getting the @#*!s and &%$*!s from you, unless your kid has a nightly date with Cinemax After Dark while you're asleep in bed.
I don't think parents should stop swearing. Personally, I am afraid of anyone who doesn't swear. Not only is swearing a much needed pressure-release button, but to have a passion for swearing is to foster an unconditional love for the language we speak, warts and all. There is a poetry and endless invention to swearing especially when the speaker creates those delectable hybrids by combining expletives together in whimsical, almost Seussian arrangements. Words among my favorites are: (I know the sponsors are watching so, forgive me, but I'll clean this up) “male genitalia/head” and “sexual congress/face” or really exotic smash-ups like “excrement/sexual congress/sexual congress with fecal matter/nose.”
If you are a little more curious about the etymology of the swear, there's a fine article over at howstuffworks.com. There I found out dirty words generally fall into two categories: deistic (related to religion) or visceral (related to the body and it's function). On second thought, maybe you don't want to research your favorite swears. A great swear is like a great joke, it kind of kills it when you have to explain it.
No, I don't think children should be invited to the entire buffet of hard R swear words. That should be another one of those consolation prizes for getting older, like getting a driver's license, drinking alcohol and earning the right to neglect to vote. One day, many years from now, I hope one of my children will come to me and say, “Listen dad, I don't give a shit.” And I will put a hand on their shoulder and tell them “congratulations, my child, you are now grown.”
