When I was a kid, I discovered that it was very fun to swear. It still is fun, but now that I am a children’s book author, my boyfriend tells me to keep it PG on this blog, just in case kids happen to Google for my name to find out what else I do when I’m not writing. (Spoiler alert, I am working.) Kids, (or people who don’t like swearing,) if you are reading this article, please tread with caution.
My sister and I learned swear words from a very young age, and even though our parents and adults tried to keep it from us, it would slip out sometimes. My father would swear when he was angry on the road, so most British insults like “Bloody b******” would grace our ears, with our mother telling us never to say that. There was also the incident where I was reading a book in which the characters were made out of fingers. They showed you how to create the characters using your hands at the back of the book, and one of the characters looked like a middle finger at rest.
I showed my mother what I had done and she told me not to do that. The following conversation ensued.
“But why?”
“Just don’t do it.”
“But why can’t I do it?”
“It’s bad. It means something bad,” she said, and I knew that she wasn’t willing to tell me anymore.
Months later, I figured out what pointing the middle finger meant, and my life was changed forever.
My sister and I also learned these swears from our classmates, who also had relatives who swore more than my parents, would tell us. And then we would find out what the words meant, somehow, so all of us were in all all the naughty, cheeky and downright vulgar words people used. And since we spoke many languages, you can bet that we knew swears in other languages. I remember gasping in surprise when my seven-year-old sister whispered, “F*** her,” to me, when a nearby adult frustrated her.
I gasped and covered my mouth. She wasn’t supposed to say that, but as someone who wasn’t a saint, I thought it wouldn’t be wise to rat her out either. The older I grew, the more swears I learned, and the more angst-ridden I became, the more swears I used. And soon, when I was old enough, I didn’t give a shit where I was, and swore when I was pissed off. Of course, I got even older and I had to tell myself not to swear in the workplace unless it was to make an emphatic point about an issue, and even then, it depends on how liberal your workplace is and the context of the discussion. Of course, in kid-friendly workplaces, I couldn’t swear and I had to teach children not to swear, either, because there’s the whole bit about being a civilising influence.
But children know these words, and they use it when adults are out of earshot. They say it to each other, and adults do, too. And honestly, if they say it in front of me, I won’t tell them to stop saying it, for sure–I would just ask them if they genuinely felt the need to say it, and listen to them. I would rather have kids swear in front of me and monitor their usage of words like these upfront, rather than to learn that they had called someone a b**** when I wasn’t looking. At least I can make them understand when and how one should swear, that is, if they really feel like they have to.
Studies have shown that swearing often is linked to a wider vocabulary, and that spewing a few vulgar words here and there eases one’s pain. Apart from this, it’s also good to discuss with kids why these words are taboo, and how they are intrinsically linked to our social mores. Why is calling someone a s*** bad? What does it say about society? Swears often reflect a person’s worldview, not the person who is being insulted.
So the next time a child swears, I’d rather you ask him or her to think about what the word means, and why s/he felt the need to say it. Our taboos are often linked to the uncomfortable truths society holds, and discussing this is one way of explaining it to them.