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Tucked under the covers of my bright red, over-sized, L.L.Bean sleeping bag in the heart of the Catskill Mountains (sleep away camp, circa 1990), my ten-year-old camper-self (and fellow pre-teen cabin-mates) clung to every word of the heartthrob counselor who had generously arrived to tuck us into bed that night (a prize secured at a previous camp carnival). We were instructed by our own counselor to keep our questions to a ten-minute minimum, an ample time-frame for our list of pre-determined inquiries (as follows, in order or least importance): favorite color, favorite camper, favorite female camper, least attractive about a woman. Twenty years later, the details of his answers remain a blur of giggles and flirtation, except for the last, in which Nameless Hot Counselor presented us with romantic wisdom a few syllables short of the meaning of life: Least attractive quality? Cursing. As we contemplated its implications in our own lives, we simultaneously soaked up our new golden rule that would dictate the majority of our dating personalities well beyond the 1990's. I knew in that moment that I was exceedingly up for the task - cursing, while exhilaratingly naughty to a newly double-digit adolescent, had become - in that single moment - a thing of my past. Enjoy!
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I hate to admit this, but I'm guilty of this offense. That said, as a mother of a four-year-old, I try very hard to be aware of my audience. The power is not in the word itself, but in the importance you give to it. Sometimes I have a hard time finding these "curse" words more important than others. Perhaps this is because I grew up on a farm?
ReplyDeleteThat explains my man trouble . . .
ReplyDelete