I mentioned in a previous post that we don’t swear in my house. That post made me think of a fifth grade incident with my son.

He came home from school and told me, “I know what the ‘f’word is.” My heart sank. I had tried so hard to protect him from the vulgarities spray-painted on a nearby bridge. Was it for nothing?

“It’s ‘fart,’ he said.

To my very great credit, I did not laugh. I told him that was not a nice word, and I did not want to hear him say it again. Even now, years later, when I am typing this, I am smiling ear-to-ear.

It wasn’t until high school that he came home and told me, “Mom, the f’word’ isn’t ‘fart,’ you know.” I told him I was aware. He shook his head and walked away. There must have been some interesting conversation at school that day!

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