An Attempt to Quit Cursing
I curse. Actually, I curse quite a bit.
I curse like a sailor, like a truck driver, like a Soprano – pick your analogy.
I blame the years I spent in the military surrounded by (hilarious) members of all four military services.
But I can’t entirely blame the military because I know I had aggression issues before I enlisted. I blame that on Catholic school.
Cursing is a facet of my personality that I try to keep well hidden these days.
I tone it down for the religious family. One misstep, and I can just see devout women laying their hands of deliverance on me in prayer. No, thank you.
I won’t curse in front of my child and will usually shoot the stink eye to anyone who does.
I remember the mistake that cemented this dogma. He was about 4 years old, and we were driving home from the store. I’ve driven nothing but stick-shift cars for the last 9 years and, as most stick-shift drivers know, there are those moments when you don’t quite shift into gear all the way. These are those instances when your mind is on “Hey, that’s my favorite song” or “What do I want for dinner?” or “Why can’t this moron merge?” And this lapse invariably makes the car pause and emit a wretched noise.
I correct the gears and mutter “F***ing car!” under my breath. Except that it wasn’t under my breath enough to prevent my son, Sonar Boy, from hearing it.
He finds my utterance fascinating.
“Why is it a f***ing car, mommy? Is the car f***ing? Or does f*** make the car? Can you make the car stop being f***ed?”
I shrink down in my seat so he can’t see me shake with laughter. I don’t know how to react. I am 1) amused 2) horrified 3) surprised at his confidence with unfamiliar words and 4) duly impressed with his command of English grammar.
Oh my god. My son is George Carlin.
I knew then and there I had to watch myself. I knew why I never made “mom” friends at playdates. They were ladies that liked to put on Candlelight parties and make mommy scrapbooks. They made fudge, watched Oprah, and always, ALWAYS remembered to send out thank-you cards.
My playdates/babysitters consisted of guy friends who believed making armpit noises was a valid pasttime and thought the Spongebob theme song was the jingle of the century.
They were friends that would have heard about this little car episode and congratulated me.
…
I tried to quit cursing once.
A few months ago during Lent, to be precise. I haven’t been a practicing Catholic for decades, but I always feel a bit inspired during Lent to better myself as a human being. I realize I could do this during any other time of the year but this is a period where there is misery in numbers, and that kind of solidarity goes a long way.
No chocolate. No meat. No soda. No sex. There are any number of sacrifices to make. I decided to give up cursing.
Three weeks into Lent, I was concerned about the lack of progress. Usually my day wouldn’t be but an hour in before I made the first offense. Really? I couldn’t go 60 minutes without cursing?
I brought the bar down and started to make some allowances. Words like “ass” and “damn” didn’t count. Then I aimed to just go an entire day without cursing. It didn’t matter what day – just any day before Lent.
Everyone laughed at me. They wanted to make bets about my success. I’m not the most virtuous person in the world, but even I think there is something wrong with wagering on a Lent failure.
I quickly saw that the workplace was my problem. I was undeniably my most excitable – and profane - at the job dealing with all the government knuckleheads.
Success came the day before Easter. I stayed indoors and communicated with the outside world via text messages that I could censor and edit. I ignored phone calls and limited my face-to-face responses to head nods and thumbs-up signs. I was on self-imposed house arrest.
To not curse for an entire day, I had to become Boo Radley. Somehow it doesn’t really feel like a win.
Filed under: Misc., Musings, Odd News, Random, Rants, Society, Writing | 2 Comments
Tags: attempt to stop cursing, embarrassing, excessive cursing, humor, lent, military, Musings, psychology, Random, Rants, reflections, thoughts, vignettes, Writing
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Wow! I could have written this…almost. I remember a loooong time ago I was in high school and I tried giving up cursing for lent too. Failed miserably but since then have noticed how it is almost like a part of me. Can’t explain either, I’m not an aggressive person, I am hotblooded I’d say but that’s just passion not hate. One thing I noticed just the other night though is that I tend to curse more when I’ve just met someone (in a social setting of course). So I wonder why that is. Maybe because anyone already in my life knows that I have a potty a mouth and they don’t judge, they just know its me being me. So when I meet someone new, maybe I want them to know right up front that its a part of me, and if you’re gonna like me, the cursing comes with the package. If I’m judged right away, then I assume they’re aren’t worth my time anyway. Hmmm. The thing is….I don’t do it to offend. Sometimes, there really are no better words is all.
Also had to comment on this because just this Friday I was driving to San Antonio and took my 3 year old nephew with me. I try to watch myself around him really but sometimes…well you know! I must say, it is the cutest, funniest thing in the world to hear a 3 year old say…”oh shit”! Heehee! Sorry sis!
You know, that’s a good point about cursing during initial meet. I find myself doing that too (provided it’s not a work function). I’m not loud or obnoxious either but I do have a bad temper. I don’t really offend easily and am not politically correct at all. I think it’s like what you said: to know right up front about who I am. And I blow it in front of my son too, though I really do try not to! But yeah, it can be pretty funny to hear them curse – I certainly won’t ever forget my son’s outbursts.