I have a HUGE potty mouth.
But I don't ALWAYS have a potty mouth, which is sort of the thing. If I can manage to rein it in, say, while I'm giving announcements at church, or while I am playing with a baby or helping an old woman cross the street, then why can't I control my mouth ALL the time??
The Bible tells me that I should, and that I MUST, cut it out:
- Ephesians 5:4 - Let there be no filthiness nor foolish talk nor crude joking, which are out of place, but instead let there be thanksgiving.
- Proverbs 21:23 - whoever keeps his mouth and his tongue keeps himself out of trouble.
- James 3:6-8 -- For every kind of beast and bird, of reptile and sea creature, can be tamed and has been tamed by mankind, but no human being can tame the tongue. It is a restless evil, full of deadly poison.
- James 3:10 -- From the same mouth come blessing and cursing. My brothers, these things ought not to be so.
- Romans 7:18-19 -- For I know that good itself does not dwell in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing.
I know exactly how this all started for me. I was in the USC Trojan Marching Band in the early 1980s. Back then, we lived in a world far less fettered by today's political correctness.
We. Swore. All. The. Time. Even when we were brought to attention on the field during rehearsal, which happened every few minutes, we, the 250-member marching band, would shout, in unison: "U - S - C! F*** the (whoever we happened to be playing that week)!!" Granted, we'd tone it down to "BEAT the (whoever we happened to be playing that week)!!" when in public. But only reluctantly.
We had our own version of every opponent's fight song, each laced with obscenities. Generally speaking, the first verse would be tame enough to sing in public, at pep rallies and such, and each successive verse would become more and more crude -- those verses were not generally meant for public consumption, but we were endlessly amused by them and usually managed to keep them away from unwilling ears. Usually.
For example, the second verse of our version of the UCLA fight song is dirty enough that, when my family insisted on hearing it, I'd censor myself by singing it this way:
Bruins are a bunch of hmmm hmmmm,
Song girls are a bunch of hmmmm.
When they hmmmm hmmmm hmmmm hmmmm hmmmm they look like garbage trucks.
You get the idea. And part of the band culture was not only to memorize all these songs, but to sing them loudly, every chance we got. As freshmen, we were required to know all the verses of these and other equally inappropriate songs...
I remember when I first joined the Trojan Band. I was a relatively naive little Christian girl, and I remember my jaw literally dropping open when I heard such profanity spewing out of the sweetest looking upperclassmen, as they urged us on to meet the standards of TGMBITHOTU (The Greatest Marching Band In The History Of The Universe). Whether singing or speaking or yelling at us, "swears" were just part of the lexicon of the TMB.
I also remember my fourth year, when I was section leader of the clarinets. There was the sweetest little guy who was the most promising of all the freshman scum (yes, hazing was a big part of band too). About the third day of band camp, he started to falter and not look as good as he had at first. His marching technique and attitude were growing worse and worse. Sensing that he was starting to lose heart, I pulled him aside.
"This is super hard, isn't it?" I asked. He nodded.
"You feel like you're not getting the hang of it, even after all this time...?" Nod.
"And you can't believe the foul language you're hearing around here, huh?" Another nod.
"Especially coming from women. It's pretty shocking, isn't it?" Another nod, and this time, from behind his Ray-Bans, a single tear slid down his cheek.
"You know what? I was exactly like you when I first got here. You can totally do this. You're the best marcher of all the freshmen, and you're the best player too. Hang in there. After a while, you kinda get used to it. Please don't quit. We need you."
Again, he nodded. He never said a word. I don't know if I helped. But not only did he stay through band camp -- years later, he ended up becoming section leader himself.
But the whole foul language thing was a problem. And it stuck with me. I'm just sayin'.
So, after I left the Trojan Band, it took a while to learn to once again speak like a civilian. And I admit, it was not easy.
Fortunately, I married a man who wasn't shocked by my occasional (haha, occasional) lapse into profanity. Brian and I were always pretty careful around his daughter, Becky. But we only had her a few days at a time, so we could pull ourselves together and only unleash the kraken when she wasn't around. And even after Jennifer, our youngest, was born, we still lacked, um, self control. For a while.
At work, we had a "Potty Mouth Jar". In an effort to clean up our language, any time someone swore, he or she would put a quarter into the jar. When it filled up (which was far too frequently), we'd use it for happy hour after work. On review, this plan might have worked better if we hadn't, um, rewarded ourselves for cussing... I even remember one day, a co-worker stormed into work late, crammed a ten-dollar bill into the jar, and said, "It's gonna be THAT kind of day!" So, at least I managed to surround myself with people who at least understood (if not shared) my problem.
The turning point, for my darling husband and me, came when Jennifer was just beginning to speak and understand lots of words (which for her, was super early -- she was saying full sentences by the time she turned two). We were in Michigan, visiting his folks at Christmas time. Apparently, as I learned later, Brian had been carrying Jennifer that morning while stepping into the garage, and he'd painfully wrenched his ankle when he half-missed a step down. Later, he admitted that perhaps he had cursed in reaction to the pain.
Well, fast forward to later that day. We'd been out Christmas shopping with Jennifer, and we'd stepped into a Wendy's for lunch. Jennifer had grown bored of eating and was tossing her food, one french fry at a time, onto the floor. I tried a few times to correct her, but to no avail. So finally I calmly removed all the food from her tray and we continued eating, not paying her much mind. Jennifer took one look at this development, and in the clearest, loudest, most crisply enunciated manner you can imagine, she yelled, "G** [pause] D**** IT!"
The entire Wendy's, which was jam-packed with nice mid-Western people, fell instantly and completely silent, like in the old West movies when the villain crashes through the squeaky saloon doors. In horror, Brian and I looked at Jennifer, then at each other. Then, responsible parents that we were, we burst into hysterical laughter. Brian looked around, wiping his eyes, and said, "Well, at least she used it appropriately."
So at this point, we realized that Jennifer had entered that "parrot" stage. We knew that it was time to cool it on the language. And we did pretty well with that. Until recently.
It seems like now that Jennifer has reached the age of 17, our filter has sprung a leak. Okay, several leaks. We are far less careful about swearing around her. And with all the extremely funny but off-color TV shows, videos, songs, etc. floating around, it's sort of a losing battle. So far, Jennifer has only unleashed one really big swear in a place where she absolutely should not have (at least that I know of). In fact, the word she used was something I'd never even heard before. It was pretty impressive. And, on review, it wasn't entirely unwarranted, either. But hey - this blog is about me.
I try. I really try to choose other words when something unexpected or frustrating happens. My favorite exclamation of late is, "SHOVELS!" And usually I'm able to pull that one forward before a less acceptable epithet escapes. But I constantly slip and struggle to keep that leash on my tongue.
Recently, I saw "The Fantastic Mr. Fox" for the first time. It's a delightful movie -- we absolutely loved it. Part of the humor in it involves how the characters swear. They use the word "cuss" for everything. The main character, voiced by George Clooney, refers to something as a "cluster cuss."
Here's another exchange:
Mr. Fox: I understand what you're saying, and your comments are valuable, but I'm gonna ignore your advice.
Badger: The cuss you are.
Mr. Fox: The cuss am I? Are you cussing with me?
Badger: No, you cussing with me?
Mr. Fox: Don't cussing point at me!
Badger: If you're gonna cuss with somebody, you're not gonna cuss with me, you little cuss!
I find this hilarious, and I've started trying to use "cuss" in place of the many colorful words I might otherwise use. I've had varying success with this. Hopefully I'll get better at it. My success is inversely proportional to just HOW angry I am. Because come on... sometimes, there's just no acceptable alternative to the F word.
I know that for me, this is a spiritual issue -- a matter of heart. That as I draw closer to the Lord, He can clean this part of yet another dirty closet out for me. But for now, I limp along doing the best I can -- which isn't very well -- and when I blow it, ask forgiveness. Usually. And often.
Feel free to call me on it, if you hear me let fly with a colorful phrase. Or just pray for me. It'll take a village to get this accomplished. In the meantime, maybe you can lend me some quarters for that Potty Mouth Jar...
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