The verbal lashing–are “bad words” allowed?

I sometimes wonder if I’m too liberal.

For instance, we have policy on cuss words in our house: using cuss words around adults is not a good idea.  That’s it.  That’s the rule.  Pretty vague, huh?  YUP!  That gives me the parent an opportunity to both instill a virtue Thall shall not cuss! and be completely fucking honest when the situation calls for it!  Any of these phrases sound familiar:

“If you cuss, you’ll go to hell” (pastor)

“Good girls don’t have dirty mouths” (grandma)

“We will be upstanding citizens with upstanding mouths!” (cub scout leader)

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain!” (some random person on a bent)

I could go on.  We tell kids–as soon as they can formulate sentences–that cussing is bad.  So, what will they naturally do when the come together, away from adults?  Cuss!  From the time they learn that cussing is socially unacceptable, until they are adults and have the right to govern themselves, your average kid has a bit of a potty mouth from time to time.  It’s stupid of me as a parent to say that I can control my daughter’s tongue when she’s not around me.

But this post really isn’t about kids cussing, it’s about adults cussing–at kids.

I hate parents that cuss out their young ones; it’s so sad to see a kid in the store getting chewed out–and watching slobber hit their face as their parent spews ugliness in their direction.  Not only is it demeaning to the child, but it really casts a poor light on the parent as well.

Sometimes thought,  using a dirty word can let a kid know that they’ve gone too far, and I found myself yesterday engaging in a verbal lashing with my 9-year old.  I didn’t spew, but I did let a few slip–did I go too far?

She’s in competition with my niece, who is about three years her junior.  Anytime my niece says anything, does anything, my daughter yells rude comments: “that’s not true!  You’re wrong, God, you don’t know anything!”

These are hurtful things.  My niece is socially not up to speed, and she just doesn’t get things sometimes.  My girls and I have had this conversation; my suggestion: change the subject.  If they can find common understanding, the conversation will naturally be a more productive one.   Still, my youngest persists in being mean at every turn.

So, first it was damn it that slipped.  Then shit.

Every time she said something to my niece, I ended up saying something to her–and it wasn’t a pretty something.   I was angry, stressed (the house finally closed yesterday), and I we were all hungry.  But she was also being purposely hurtful, insensitive, and rude.  She deserved a verbal lashing.

I didn’t apologize–not this time.  My daughter was being an asshole butt.  And for the first time I felt like she was being a jerk, and she deserved my “verbal abuse”.

And yes, most of you out there will say I’m wrong, but I’m not.  Children need to know that you too can get fed up with their “attitude”, and sometimes, there’s nothing left.  My daughter isn’t little anymore, she almost 10.  She’s old enough to know when she’s being purposely hurtful, and she should be reprimanded for it.

Will it change her attitude toward her little cousin?  Probably not.  We’ve decided to separate them whenever possible; my daughter gets the joy and quiet solitude of her room–unless she can figure out how to say something kind once in a while.

Of course, parenting books won’t teach us that–in parenting books, parents never get fed up.  Parents never cuss.  In the really world, sometimes, a verbal lashing is an order.

The verbal lashing–are "bad words" allowed?

I sometimes wonder if I’m too liberal.

For instance, we have policy on cuss words in our house: using cuss words around adults is not a good idea.  That’s it.  That’s the rule.  Pretty vague, huh?  YUP!  That gives me the parent an opportunity to both instill a virtue Thall shall not cuss! and be completely fucking honest when the situation calls for it!  Any of these phrases sound familiar:

“If you cuss, you’ll go to hell” (pastor)

“Good girls don’t have dirty mouths” (grandma)

“We will be upstanding citizens with upstanding mouths!” (cub scout leader)

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain!” (some random person on a bent)

I could go on.  We tell kids–as soon as they can formulate sentences–that cussing is bad.  So, what will they naturally do when the come together, away from adults?  Cuss!  From the time they learn that cussing is socially unacceptable, until they are adults and have the right to govern themselves, your average kid has a bit of a potty mouth from time to time.  It’s stupid of me as a parent to say that I can control my daughter’s tongue when she’s not around me.

But this post really isn’t about kids cussing, it’s about adults cussing–at kids.

I hate parents that cuss out their young ones; it’s so sad to see a kid in the store getting chewed out–and watching slobber hit their face as their parent spews ugliness in their direction.  Not only is it demeaning to the child, but it really casts a poor light on the parent as well.

Sometimes thought,  using a dirty word can let a kid know that they’ve gone too far, and I found myself yesterday engaging in a verbal lashing with my 9-year old.  I didn’t spew, but I did let a few slip–did I go too far?

She’s in competition with my niece, who is about three years her junior.  Anytime my niece says anything, does anything, my daughter yells rude comments: “that’s not true!  You’re wrong, God, you don’t know anything!”

These are hurtful things.  My niece is socially not up to speed, and she just doesn’t get things sometimes.  My girls and I have had this conversation; my suggestion: change the subject.  If they can find common understanding, the conversation will naturally be a more productive one.   Still, my youngest persists in being mean at every turn.

So, first it was damn it that slipped.  Then shit.

Every time she said something to my niece, I ended up saying something to her–and it wasn’t a pretty something.   I was angry, stressed (the house finally closed yesterday), and I we were all hungry.  But she was also being purposely hurtful, insensitive, and rude.  She deserved a verbal lashing.

I didn’t apologize–not this time.  My daughter was being an asshole butt.  And for the first time I felt like she was being a jerk, and she deserved my “verbal abuse”.

And yes, most of you out there will say I’m wrong, but I’m not.  Children need to know that you too can get fed up with their “attitude”, and sometimes, there’s nothing left.  My daughter isn’t little anymore, she almost 10.  She’s old enough to know when she’s being purposely hurtful, and she should be reprimanded for it.

Will it change her attitude toward her little cousin?  Probably not.  We’ve decided to separate them whenever possible; my daughter gets the joy and quiet solitude of her room–unless she can figure out how to say something kind once in a while.

Of course, parenting books won’t teach us that–in parenting books, parents never get fed up.  Parents never cuss.  In the really world, sometimes, a verbal lashing is an order.

All because of f***. That’s right, “fuck.”

I never understood why she did it.  She was usually so nice, much nicer than my mom.  Her small tuft of grass in our apartment complex was always green, and it had sunflowers in the front!  They weren’t big or anything, but my brown plot of dead grass would have been happy to have them.

Jordan’s mom was white, well so was Jordan.  I’m not sure if that’s why she did–as I kid, I never understood white parents; they were different.  Not bad, just different.

So Jordan wasn’t my best friend, but he was the closest kid to my age, and we got along well.  It was a summer day, I remember the heat.  I was in a bathing suit and Jordan–bless his heart!–was a redheaded, shirtless, plump kid.  His skin was starting to match his hair  when it happened.

We were fighting over the waterhose, and have fun doing it.  He’d dowse me in the face, I’d squeal, run and come back for more.  Finally, I wrestled it from it, slaughtered him with a good spray, and giggled profusely.

“Fuck you!” his smirk was adorable–he was mad, but he was wet, it was hot, and it was a fun.  We started to do it again.

He’d said it before.  We both had, out of range of the mommies, of course.  We had such bad mouths at play that I don’t think Jordan realized how loud he’d said.  His mom did.

She came barreling out of the house, we saw her coming down the hallway through the screen door.  Her dress flung side to side, and her strawberry blond hair was scattered across her face by the time her arm beat the door down.

“Jordan! Get in here right now!”

He was confused, we both were.  Until he realized she’d  hear him. “Mom, I didn’t–“

“Right now young man!” as he walked past her, her fingers grabbed his ear, he screamed, and I came closer to the door.  She held his ear all the way down the hall, into the bathroom.  “You stand right here!”  She hauled a chair from the dining room and smacked him into the chair.  She could care less about me peering through the screen door.  I don’t even think she noticed me.   “I’ll teach you to have a mouth like a toilet!  You want a dirty mouth?  Let’s put some soap in it!”

She took the bar of soap and threatened, “If you take this soap out of your mouth before I tell you, I’m gonna get a belt and turn your hide red!  You sit here with your dirty mouth.  I can’t believe….”

He would sit there, soap in his mouth, bubbles frothing from the sides.  She would rant, come into the bathroom, holler, and walk away.  He was crying, and he saw me (the hallway wasn’t long, and I gather I was more in the doorway than peering from the side).  My mouth started to water as I saw the slobber leaving his chin, rolling down his chest, and forming a puddle on his shorts.  I felt sick.

I couldn’t believe she’d put soap in his mouth.  I wondered why she didn’t just smack him on the back of the head, pull out a belt or a switch, or cuss him out in return for his foul mouth–as was the custom in my house.  Why did she put soap in it?  Wasn’t soap something that NEVER went into a person’s mouth?  I understood the concept:

dirty mouth + soap = no cussing.

She found me staring and slammed the door.  I was so confused that day, and I’ve never forgotten the scene.  Jordan’s mother was normally the nicest mom I’d ever seen: she never hit, never cussed; she always fussed with him about this or that, like moms do.  And until that day, I’d never seen her hurt Jordan.

But I knew he was hurt, if not physically, then certainly to his pride and self-worth.   Yes, he’d said fuck, said it loud.  But that four-letter word wasn’t worth soap in the mouth.  diarrhea inducing, film-leaving, upchuck enticing soap.

And what’s funny, well sad and ironic really, is that he cussed much more after that–he just did it a bit quieter.  Soap trickling down the back of his throat, humiliation in front of me, and the irrational, hyper-emotional response of his mom gave Jordan the vitriol to spew dirty words, and combinations of dirty words whenever he was out of earshot of mom.

All because of f***. That's right, "fuck."

I never understood why she did it.  She was usually so nice, much nicer than my mom.  Her small tuft of grass in our apartment complex was always green, and it had sunflowers in the front!  They weren’t big or anything, but my brown plot of dead grass would have been happy to have them.

Jordan’s mom was white, well so was Jordan.  I’m not sure if that’s why she did–as I kid, I never understood white parents; they were different.  Not bad, just different.

So Jordan wasn’t my best friend, but he was the closest kid to my age, and we got along well.  It was a summer day, I remember the heat.  I was in a bathing suit and Jordan–bless his heart!–was a redheaded, shirtless, plump kid.  His skin was starting to match his hair  when it happened.

We were fighting over the waterhose, and have fun doing it.  He’d dowse me in the face, I’d squeal, run and come back for more.  Finally, I wrestled it from it, slaughtered him with a good spray, and giggled profusely.

“Fuck you!” his smirk was adorable–he was mad, but he was wet, it was hot, and it was a fun.  We started to do it again.

He’d said it before.  We both had, out of range of the mommies, of course.  We had such bad mouths at play that I don’t think Jordan realized how loud he’d said.  His mom did.

She came barreling out of the house, we saw her coming down the hallway through the screen door.  Her dress flung side to side, and her strawberry blond hair was scattered across her face by the time her arm beat the door down.

“Jordan! Get in here right now!”

He was confused, we both were.  Until he realized she’d  hear him. “Mom, I didn’t–“

“Right now young man!” as he walked past her, her fingers grabbed his ear, he screamed, and I came closer to the door.  She held his ear all the way down the hall, into the bathroom.  “You stand right here!”  She hauled a chair from the dining room and smacked him into the chair.  She could care less about me peering through the screen door.  I don’t even think she noticed me.   “I’ll teach you to have a mouth like a toilet!  You want a dirty mouth?  Let’s put some soap in it!”

She took the bar of soap and threatened, “If you take this soap out of your mouth before I tell you, I’m gonna get a belt and turn your hide red!  You sit here with your dirty mouth.  I can’t believe….”

He would sit there, soap in his mouth, bubbles frothing from the sides.  She would rant, come into the bathroom, holler, and walk away.  He was crying, and he saw me (the hallway wasn’t long, and I gather I was more in the doorway than peering from the side).  My mouth started to water as I saw the slobber leaving his chin, rolling down his chest, and forming a puddle on his shorts.  I felt sick.

I couldn’t believe she’d put soap in his mouth.  I wondered why she didn’t just smack him on the back of the head, pull out a belt or a switch, or cuss him out in return for his foul mouth–as was the custom in my house.  Why did she put soap in it?  Wasn’t soap something that NEVER went into a person’s mouth?  I understood the concept:

dirty mouth + soap = no cussing.

She found me staring and slammed the door.  I was so confused that day, and I’ve never forgotten the scene.  Jordan’s mother was normally the nicest mom I’d ever seen: she never hit, never cussed; she always fussed with him about this or that, like moms do.  And until that day, I’d never seen her hurt Jordan.

But I knew he was hurt, if not physically, then certainly to his pride and self-worth.   Yes, he’d said fuck, said it loud.  But that four-letter word wasn’t worth soap in the mouth.  diarrhea inducing, film-leaving, upchuck enticing soap.

And what’s funny, well sad and ironic really, is that he cussed much more after that–he just did it a bit quieter.  Soap trickling down the back of his throat, humiliation in front of me, and the irrational, hyper-emotional response of his mom gave Jordan the vitriol to spew dirty words, and combinations of dirty words whenever he was out of earshot of mom.