Got dandruff, some of it itches!
When I was a kid, my dad swore like a sailor. Or rather, a G.I. I’m pretty certain that the depth and breadth of his swears catalog was developed somewhere in the jungles of Vietnam – where he also picked up a love of the drink and one or two pretty little drug addictions. Not that he admitted to that sort of first hand knowledge when we were young. Back then, he’d “read it in a book.” Back then, he also used to end all of his swears with, “don’t tell your mother.”
He’d give Jesus a new, colorful middle name and then top it off by asking us to keep his potty mouth a secret. As though there was any keeping to be done. Mom knew full well what could leak out of his mouth. And while she herself very rarely even ventured into the hells and damns (though, I vaguely recall the shock of hearing her yell the non-family-approved version of “Shoot!” when something once went horribly awry), there was very little she could do about my pop’s penchant for obscenity.
We were forbidden from following his example, however. Hell, we couldn’t even say, “shut up” or call someone stupid in our household. Mom had stewardship over our souls, and until we were old enough to be tasked with the burden of our own eternal salvations, well, it was pay heed or get the soap. I’m laughing to myself now because my lord, soap tasted bad – worse than any fruits-of-the-forest stuff they make now. Oh, the lengths I went to in order to avoid chomping down on a slimy bar of Dad’s Lava soap.
That didn’t mean we wouldn’t come as close to the line as possible without actually stepping over it. If dad was a creative swearer, we were creative non-swearers. While a slip at the tool bench could send Dad challenging the legitimacy of your birth, your mother’s virtue and the lord’s divinity, we’d myna bird away, employing only technically clean and mother-approved language.
“Got dandruff, some of it itches!”
My favorite was, “Frickin’ frackin’ dan it!” Dad would chuckle and warn that we were going to get him in trouble.
One night during family night, my mom decided to offer us a lesson on swears. In the process of making chocolate chip cookies together, she pulled out a bag of rat poison and proceeded to add its contents to the mix. We lost our brains. Noooo, we wailed until she showed us that, in reality, the contents were brown sugar and we stopped our tears. From now on, she told us, we need to see bad language and misbehavior as the rat poison in our lives. We don’t want bad behavior in our home any more than we do rat poison in our cookies. We supposed she had a point. We really liked cookies. She then tasked us each with policing each other – even Dad – in order to crack down on the evil that was gripping our household. From then on we were to yell, “Rat poison!” at the offender of our domestic bliss. Oh, what eager and self-righteous youngsters we were in taking up that banner.
“Rat poison!” we’d yell, at the slightest provocation. I don’t have to tell you how long that lasted with my father, whose entire gritty existence was a celebration of rebellion. And as satisfying as saving his soul may have been, we were more afraid of his wrath than of eating rat-poisoned cookies.
Holy crap! I forgot about that! How could I forget yelling “rat poison!” all the time? Must not have been very effective. We all turned out to be potty mouths. Oh how we would get tired of saying it now.
after reading that, i think your mother scares me…
This was a great post! I have been reading your blog for awhile and always enjoy it. Love the sense of humor.
(I grew up strict Southern Baptist so I know where you’re coming from!)
I was raised Mormon as well. For us it was dog poop in the brownies. She didn’t really do it, but she said she would and then said “just a little!” trying to teach us that even a little bad would ruin the whole thing. *Sigh* Parents.
I remember the first time I heard my staunchly Mormon grandmother yell “dammit.” I cried. I was 6.
For us, if there weren’t teeth marks in the soap, we didn’t do it right. Thank god my mom didn’t start buying liquid soap until we were old enough that my dad couldn’t hear us and she stopped caring.
Now we flip each other off as a sign of affection.
I can appreciate the lesson…but don’t mess with my baked goods!!
Gotta love the creativity!!!!
When our son was about 3, my husband let loose with a curse (which he rarely does in front of the kids. Unless the Oakland Raiders are losing-um-playing.) Our son gave him a big smile and said “Mudderfudder!”
I’ve eaten “the soap” a few times and it didn’t take long before I caught on as to what to do so as to NOT have to eat the soap! Sigh.
In fact, if my mother were around me now, there’d be a shortage on Ivory.
what a great post! I was raised Mormon too (and still am actually) so I can totally relate. I remember saying “hell” once around my dad and he told me to watch it. I was 27 years old a the time. Ha!
Your mother’s solution to the fake swearing is the cleverest, funniest parental lesson-teaching I’ve ever heard. My brothers and I were threatened with soap for our potty mouths as well, but as soon as my mom figured out that Dove hand soap was no real threat, she switched to squirting blue liquid Dawn dish soap onto our tongues. It only took me once to wise up, but my brother subsisted on a regular diet of extra foamy for a while. Ah, childhood.
My parents almost NEVER swore in front of us when we were little. My father still doesn’t, and my brother and I are both in our mid-twenties. I think the worst word I’ve ever said in front of my dad is ‘crap’, which was grounds for punishment when I was growing up. However, I do have many memories of my mother, usually when in traffic, or swerving to avoid an accident, yelling “fatchamaddas meatballs” in a very thick Long Island accent. I still have no idea what this means.
That was funny. I had to say “got dandruff” out loud to get it
hi,
i’ve never heard you talk about your father before. is he still alive? i always wondered where your own rebellion against lds came from.
You are being featured on Five Star Friday!
http://www.fivestarfriday.com/2009/04/five-star-fridays-edition-51.html
Growing up for us the French we were learning at school came to the rescue. Imagine our joy when we learned that the French word for seal is “foque”, out favorite four letter word.
The folks picked-up on it very quickly (… but I’m just saying seal Mom!) and institued a rule that the entire sentence must be in French before we could use the word. Little did they know that by then seal was to be considered a swear word.
As a little Baptist we were quite fond of shouting “Mylanta!!!” when peeved. Heck, I still do it sometimes…
I can’t find your e-mail address and would like to contact you offsite. Shoot me an e-mail at schmutzie@gmail.com. Thanks.
This made me laugh, good post gosh darn it!
I don’t know how many of you remember the 80s commercial when a dad confronts his son about drug use and the dad asks which of his friends was the bad influence and the son yells back “I learned it from you dad!”
That was always my favorite reply when my parents got on me for swearing and or anything else they wanted to be hypocritical about
Can you feel the love?
My other favorite 80s commercial is the eggs in the frying pan . . . “This is your brain on drugs.”
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve used these tag lines in conversation – they totally make me smile.
I very much enjoyed this post. It’s a really well written snapshot that made me imagine the scene in your mother’s kitchen. Good post.
Did you ever see the commercial for Orbit (gosh did I get that name right?) chewing gun for cleaning up the Potty mouth. It was two women fighting over a man in an office setting and one says to the other (among other things) “You Hoboken!” it was hilarious.