Swearing

I love to swear.  I don't drink excessively, smoke or use drugs, even caffeine.  Cussing is my vice.  I was at a meeting yesterday morning with three women from my volunteer day job.  We sat in a corner in a coffee shop and an elderly couple sat next to our table.  I am sure we looked innocent enough, like a couple of stay-at-home moms enjoying a cup of tea after dropping the kids off at school.  We were having a lively debate, and more than a few expletives were dropped.  The best when was when one of my more articulate friends said, "We need to kill this motherf--er."  (Note: This "motherf--er" was an idea, not a person or animal.)  I was shocked.  I don't think I had ever heard her swear.  It was epic.  In the 1970's, we would have been smoking.  Today, we drop f-bombs.  I felt bad for the couple next to us.  I am sure their ears hurt by time we left.  I bet they wished there was a swearing ordinance in Seattle that where people can only swear outside and more than 30 feet from the front door of businesses.

Last night, swearing continued, though this time as the topic  of conversation.  I went to an event at the children's theater where we met the playwright for the upcoming production of James and the Giant Peach.  After dinner, the playwright was sitting with the director.  I sat down at an empty seat at their table and asked the writer, "Is there swearing in this play?"  I was kind of hoping there would be.  My son P.J. has read the book several times, and he exploded with laughter when the centipede yells, "Ass!" to the other characters that are annoying him.  He laughed so hard that he stopped making sound, and then made a whoop as he came back up for air.   It was his favorite part of the book.

The writer looked delighted that I had asked him this meaty question.  He must have pondered this while writing.  In his talk, the writer said Roald Dahl broke several barriers with his children's books -- dead parents in the first page, being one.  (Dickens killed off all of Pip's relatives in Great Expectations, but that wasn't aimed at young children.  I digress.)  I wondered if the Children's Theater would break this barrier.

"We have to consider the audience and where the show is playing when we decide what kind of language to use," the writer said.

The director seemed a bit more alarmed at my question.  The playwright lives in New York.  This play is not opening in his hometown.  The director, on the other hand, is an icon in Seattle.  This theater is considered the best of its kind in the U.S., and much of the organization's success is due to her work over the years.  She has way more to lose.

"What do you mean by swearing?" she asked, eying me skeptically.

"You know," I said, "the centipede is rude and calls the other characters 'ass' and 'nincompoop.'"

"Nincompoop isn't swearing," she replied, annoyed at my inability to tell profane words from gibberish.

"Yeah," I said stalling.  "What about 'ass'?"

"There is no swearing," she said in the same tone of voice as if I asked if there were live animal sacrifices on the stage.  "We have two 'idiots' and three 'stupids,' but in the audience discussion we will talk about how inappropriate those words are.  The aunts use them and we had a hard time not using those words considering the aunts are horrible people."

"Dahl used colorful language and I was wondering if the show would have it," I said, trying to explain myself.

"We are going to have florid language more than profanity," writer said.  "Plus, British swear words have different meanings than American swear words.  'Bloody' is a serious word in England, but over here it doesn't mean anything.  'Ass' in England means donkey or jackass whereas 'asshole'..." He continued on for a few more minutes on the meaning of certain words to the British and Americans.

I was loving this conversation.  The director was not.

"So how do you decide which word to keep and which ones go?" I asked.  The director must think I am demented for wanting to introduce swearing to children.  I imagine her going back to the development office and asking them not to hit us up for a donation next year.

"We didn't want to risk losing the audience with swearing," the writer says.  I can accept that.  You don't want families losing interest in the plot and songs and dance, pulled out of the reverie by one bad word.  Writers have more luxury than actors.  Readers can put the book down for a minute to ponder or laugh.  Actors have a different task to keep people's attention.  Swearing might break that.  Half of the audience might burst into a laughter so deep and profound it stops the show.  The other half might get up a leave the theater.

The director likely has the ability to forecast the disaster that swearing could create that I previously did not.  I imagine she does not want all of the Puget Sound area school districts writing the theater off their field trip docket over a few poorly chosen words.  She also probably does not want angry letters from parents when Billy calls his pal at preschool an ass.  Having been on the receiving end of hate mail from my volunteer job, I know that would be bad.  What may be fine for 80% of the folks is not worth the wrath of the other 20%.

Which brings me to my final point, swearing around children.  I usually reserve my swearing vent my frustration about the absurdities in my day job when I am in a confidential and safe setting with friends.  I also swear when I drive.  I swear when I stub my toe or lose something or burn dinner.  Let's say I swear a lot, just less when my kids are around.  My daughter never swears and says things like "poopersons" when something doesn't work.  My son, on the other hand, picked up my bad habit.   When he was two, we were reading Richard Scary's "Cars and Trucks and Things that Go" for the 14,000th time.  We came to the page near the end with the big crash and he proudly pointed at the picture, smiled and said, "F---!  F---!"  Oh dear, I thought.  I didn't remember using the word in front of him.  Did he remember it from the womb?  Nevertheless, I cut back my swearing.  For me, it was like a two pack a day smoker going down to one cigarette in the morning and one before bed.  (My grandmother had told everyone she had quit smoking, but every night after dinner, she would "take the garbage out" for five minutes.  Everyone knew.)

There was withdrawl.  I know there are more creative ways to express oneself, but sometimes "bullsh-" beats "I disagree with that idea." "Crazy" doesn't have the same emotional punch as the f-word.  I also understand the difference between swearing about a situation and swearing at someone, and I avoid the latter.  (People driving cars don't count.)  I know there is a time and place for swearing, and there are numerous people who are unaware of my foul mouth.  I suppose that is part of the appeal of swearing -- only a select few are privy to my rants.  I tried switching to "poopersons," but I sounded ridiculous when I caught myself saying it in front of a friend while driving.  And I don't want my kids to grow up in a bubble.  And how much is swearing part of our grown-up culture?  I love Macklemore (see previous post) and the Violent Femmes.  Is listening to songs with swear words a rite of passage?

After I got back from the preview at the children's theater, the kids asked me to read aloud from Hyperbole and a Half by Allie Brosh.  Her book is a illustrated memoir with everything from hilarious stories about her dog and childhood to serious discussions about her battle with depression.  As a child, she had a toy parrot that would record her voice.  She made it say "poop" about 400 times.  Poop is the favorite swear word for the under eight crowd.  At what point does "poop" turn to "shit"?  Would we wonder about the 15 year old who says "poop" in an non-ironic way?  When Allie talks of her adult life, she isn't afraid to sprinkle in the f-bombs.  As I was reading aloud, I came across a few of them.  The conversation with the playwright and the children's theater director came back to me.  I thought of the director and just because the writer put those words there didn't mean I had to read them.  I skipped the f-bombs, and my kids noticed.

"Read them," my daughter said.  "You have to read the whole thing."  And I didn't.  Was I afraid of the hate mail I'd get from school if my kids started casually dropping f-bombs?  Does my daughter really swear, but not in front of me?  Or, god forbid, am I growing up?  Am I trying to teach my kids civility? The greater truth lies in the power of control.  I can swear when I want to, and I can choose when I don't.

Footnote:  After I wrote this, I asked my daughter why she doesn't swear.  "It isn't polite," she replied.  I think she doesn't swear as an act of rebellion against me.