Cussin'

Some people swear.  But, in the south, we cuss.  I have never really been much of a cusser (is that a word?).  My mother, born in 1923, NEVER cussed.  She actually wouldn't even fully spell a cuss word.  Doing so might actually mean that she'd cussed.  So, she'd spell exactly half the word and not one letter more. 

My dad grew up very poor and the son of an alcoholic.  He wanted more.  He would always tell me that it was easy to cuss but he was so proud of my Mama and what a "good" girl he'd managed to snag that he just felt like he could and would do better.  Instead, he made up cuss words.  "Dad dhasted" was among his favorites.  "Son of a Buck" was another...although I'm fairly sure that a buck is male, but I don't really guess that matters. 

My aunts used Sugar instead of that word referring to fecal matter.  I wonder why we feel such power when shouting out a term referring to excrement?  But, the one that is like nails on a chalk board to me is the "F bomb".  Did you know that "f bomb" actually made it into the dictionary this year?  It is a sad sign of our times, indeed.  Anyhow, I hate, hate, hate that one. 

In active addiction, my son, knowing of my adverse  reaction to that word once called after he'd been kicked out and he'd been drinking, and using his great creativity to use that particular word as a noun, verb, adjective and a host of other grammatical terms that I have forgotten the meaning to. 

On Friday, I confronted him about something that I thought he was lying about.  When he continued to stand by his story, I yelled from a place I was certain my parents were watching and shaking their collective heads in a "you know better than" motion, BULLSHIT!

If you really think about it, bullshit is like the plain ol shit on steroids.  I know this for fact as I live next door to cows.  Anyhow, I'm fairly certain that son swallowed his gum and his face went red and the whites of his eyes just about doubled in size.  He was so shocked.  Here was this boy who was obviously not shocked by much and yet me cussin at him almost knocked him over.  He could not let it go.  He brought it up 3-4 more times.

It kind of tickled me (after I felt guilty over stooping lower than I should have in a fit of anger).  It tickled me because even if I didn't realize it before, keeping my language clean, meant something to him.  You talk and talk to your kids but it's your day in and day out actions that are really who you are.  They are what they really notice.  It is a wake up call for me to build on that one good thing that I've got going.

Today, I am thankful for his standards for me.  I am thankful for great parents.  I am praying for all of you out there with your daily ups and downs and I'm praying for Henry.