You know, profanity isn't what it used to be anymore.
By that I don't mean its substance – swear words have always been, well, profane. Pretty much the standard, not too much new added, unless you count combinations.
What I mean is that profanity is everywhere these days.
Not just rap music, but movies, books, and particularly television, four-letter words are being used all to frequently in our language, so much so they have become the nouns and verbs of choice, not to mention adjectives and adverbs.
This has been going on for a long time, and it's not that I just crawled out from underneath whatever rock I was hiding under and noticed. I know there are folks who grew up with the favorite family member or relative who swore so well they'd make the Devil blush.
Heck, I worked with a guy like that in the early 1980s.
Marvin could throw together so many profane invectives that Yosemite Sam – if he could really cuss – would call it quits and join a monastery.
No, it's just that a couple of things happened recently that make me pine for the old days, when profanity was used as a last resort to bring home the strongest emphasis possible about ones feelings on something.
Kind of the vocabulary equivalent of WMD.
The first was the use of a four-letter word – actually a hyphenated four-letter, three-letter word – in a Cheney Free Press story last week. The second was what my mom said.
As long as I have known her, my mom has never swore.
That goes all the way back to being in labor with me.
Nope, mom is one of those people who substitutes phrases or words where you know someone else would put in the old four-letter job. Case in point last week, in talking about something my brother's dog did on the carpet, mom could have resorted to the “d-s” word in describing the mutt's frame of mind.
I would have most likely. But what did my mom call him?
“Old spizerinctum.”
For the record, this is an improper usage since the word apparently means, “vigor, vitality” or some kind of liquid leading to such. I think I get Spam for this stuff.
Anyway, there's more. “Gosh all fishhooks” is one.
“For crying out loud” is another. “Goll-ee, Ned,” which is really a derivative of “Holy moly.” And, since I love baseball, here's a golden oldie. “Holy cow.” (Rest in peace Harry.)
My dad occasionally got in on the act, more as I grew older in fact. I still remember when he called me a “dunderhead.”
I think the effect of what he was trying to tell me was lost somewhat because I couldn't breath after that – I was laughing too hard.
I still get a smile when I think about it.
I was also called an “idgit” – making Yosemite Sam proud, although I didn't get the “crazy” designation to go with it.
And, as hard as I worked, I never earned the “long-haired galoot” label.
I think it was because my hair never really got long, just bushy.
Dad eventually did get to the four-letter words, but rarely, and the few times he did use them on me, I assure you, I didn't engage in that behavior again. Because I knew he meant it.
Yeah, maybe all of this sounds a little too Leave-it-to-Beaver-ish, but words carry impact, and that impact can sometimes be lessened through repetition.
Especially when there's no reason, and another, more pleasant term, may be just as good.
So, we'll watch our words if you'll watch yours. I mean, after all, great Ceasar's ghost.
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