Last year at this time my daughter had just graduated from preschool when she informed me that she knew “all of the bad words.” I was caught off guard and worried about where she might have heard such obscenities. She then shared them with me.
The bad B word was “Butt.” The bad S word was “Stupid.” The bad H word was “Hate.” The bad N word was “Nipple.” And the bad “IHB word” was “I Hate your Butt.”
It was a sweet and funny moment and I was grateful for her innocence. Ahh the naivete of youth.
Fast forward one year as my daughter is about to finish kindergarten. Yesterday she looked at me and asked, “Mama, what’s a motherf*cker?” But she didn’t use the asterisk.
Over the past two weeks my dear sweet child has unleashed a slew of curse words that we had no idea she knew. Sometimes she even uses them correctly.
I’d like to thank the public education system for enlightening my child this year beyond my wildest dreams. Not only did she learn to read and write, but her vocabulary now matches that of a middle-aged truck driver (no offense to truck drivers).
I’d also like to give a special shout-out to the foul-mouthed heathen who shared these delightful terms with my child at the lunch table. May your potty mouth serve you well in the years to come. Like when you’re sitting in detention.
Despite my best efforts to thwart my child’s fascination with these brave new words, I can tell by the twinkle in her eye that she is eager to use them. So now my summer objective is to teach her, earlier than I had planned, one of life’s most important lessons: With great profanity comes great responsibility. Wish me luck. I fucking need it.