I don’t swear. I will say ‘crap’ or ‘darn’ or, if  I was  really mad, I may have said  ‘half-assed.’ That is as wild as language gets in my house.

My daughter learned to swear like a sailor. In fact, she has called me things that would make a sailor blush. Where did she hear them? Who knows. The school bus? The Behavioral Health unit? We don’t have cable. My extended family doesn’t swear. I really don’t know where she learned those ugly words.

My son, at 21, said to me, “Mom, if I said those words, you would wash my mouth out with soap.” I told him he was right. I would. And I added that I knew he wouldn’t bite me. (My daughter would bite me. She did on many occasions – not because I tried to wash her mouth out with soap.)

Sometimes my daughter aimed those ugly words at my son. He never responded in kind. He would go for a walk or a drive until he (and she) cooled down. In this situation, I am proud to say, he reacted with a maturity beyond his years.

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