Summary

The author recounts the moment their mother used a swear word in their presence for the first time when the author was 37 years old, reflecting on the strict language standards and the eccentricities of their blended family's upbringing.

Abstract

The narrative centers around a pivotal moment in the author's adult life when their mother, known for her eloquent yet clean language, unexpectedly swore after her car failed to start. This event stands out against the backdrop of the author's childhood in a blended family with high expectations for behavior, where alcohol and cigarettes were accessible yet bad language was taboo. The parents' laissez-faire approach to child-rearing was coupled with a diverse range of religious beliefs among the siblings. The author muses on the peculiarities of their family dynamics, including their father's penchant for coffee and sensationalist newspapers, and the varied life paths of their siblings. The article concludes with the author, now a writer, reflecting on their own habits and the impact of their upbringing.

Opinions

The author was surprised by their mother's use of a swear word, indicating a long-standing expectation of proper language in the household.
There is a sense of bemusement and mild criticism towards the parents' eccentricities and their hands-off parenting style.
The author implies that the siblings' adult outcomes, including addictions and personal quirks, might have been influenced by the parents' approach to child-rearing and their own idiosyncrasies.
The author suggests that despite the lack of explicit language in their upbringing, they themselves do not frequently use swear words in their writing.
There is an underlying tone of nostalgia and reflection on how the unique family environment shaped each member's life choices and personality traits.

Mom Finally Used a Four-Letter Word in Front of Me

I was 37.

By ClipArtGuy / Licensed from Deposit Photos

It was a long time ago. I was visiting for a birthday or a holiday and Mom wanted to drive somewhere for lunch. Her car wouldn’t start.

“Oh, ssssssssssshit,” she said.

At the tender age of 37, I had never heard her say that word before. Oh she could get mad, all right. Her stock of fury words included “livid,” “furious,” “he’ll get his” (her version of karma), “spitting mad,” and more. But never a four-letter word out loud. Until this day. My father was the same, though his anger words centered around “Dammit!” and “Jesus Christ!”

Let me take you back. I grew up in a blended household with Mom and Dad (while the marriage lasted) and four half-siblings: each parent had brought a son and a daughter to the union. I was the new kid on the block.

For some unfathomable reason, they simply expected good behavior. The liquor was out, in beautiful cut crystal decanters. Cigarettes sat comfortably in silver cups, beside exotic marble lighters, decoratively perched on mahogany side tables in the living room. There were no chore rosters yet everything got done. Both parents commuted to work, to a business they co-owned. Their attitude towards the kids was mostly laissez-faire, almost but not quite to the point of neglect.

Yet no one ever seemed to get into trouble. Once, when the school called about some mildly irregular behavior, the parents made a performance of concern but the errant child got nothing more than a few dark looks.

And no bad language. It wasn’t used. It would not have been tolerated. As for school, good grades were absolutely anticipated, and most of us did well.

Parental weirdness

The parents were eccentric in other ways. Take religion. Both were born to Jewish parents. The oldest boy was bar mitzvahed. The next oldest son got into Baha’i, which you will have to look up — suffice to say it encompasses all the deities from other faiths. One of the girls spent a lot of time in Catholic churches, while the other worshipped only stepmom.

As an adult, I quizzed Mom as to how all this had happened, but she feigned innocence.

As the last arrival, I was left to choose my own. Grandparents swooped in and arranged a 6-month crash course that would permit a bar mitzvah, but I refused. Not only was I disinterested, despite the lure of great presents and monetary gifts, but all the other kids had studied for years. Just felt unethical. (Many years later I would study an offshoot of Wicca, but that’s another story.)

And dad? Dad was a huge fan of coffee. He would pour some into our milk at the breakfast table, turning it brown right before our eyes, and suggest it was chocolate. “Drink up, it’s delicious!” Which no one believed for a second.

From the Weekly World News, circa 1964. Long before Photoshop — or the fall of the Berlin Wall.

He bought a ton of Sunday newspapers, none of them tabloid or sensationalist, except one: The National Enquirer, which he would hide, and yell at us when we invariably found it. Headlines in those days were along the lines of “Monkey Head Transferred to Human Body!”

I still can’t figure out why none of us ever tested the waters by letting slip a curse word, just for effect or provocation. I mean, we were kids — that’s part of the job description. Never happened. So the day Mom switched from “Oh ssssssugar” to something more colorful was a landmark day. I looked at her in total surprise.

She read my look and said, “You’re old enough to hear it.”

Well duh! I was planning to pursue this linguistic topic until her rather stern look suggested I best not.

The wrap-up: addictions and other outcomes

One brother definitely took up the coffee-and-cigarette route, which became lifelong habits. He also had a tendency to fake extreme pain and thus get prescription painkillers from a variety of physicians and hospitals. Not sure if that contributed to an early death in his mid-sixties, though the cigarettes (and genetics) probably did.

One sister, following several failed marriages, fell in love with food and is considerably overweight. She has a companion, though. He’s not thin either.

The other sister went on to have a successful career in broadcast news, which left her both an avid news junkie and something of a hyper, know-it-all personality.

The other brother, the first to go, died in a tragic accident at 27. Details were unclear, but he may have been playing Russian roulette.

Would exposure to bad language have changed any of these paths? Surely not. Would more parental involvement have had an impact? Most certainly. Do any of us talk a ‘blue’ streak? Nope.

Me? I became a writer. Lots of different types. I don’t use four-letter words in my work (this article aside). I’m killer on deadlines, yet for my personal output I have become particularly astute at procrastination, and an expert in the fine art of not finishing things I begin.

This article being an exception. No sh*t.