I was bundling Arran and Seren into the car ready for a trip out, just the three of us – mum’s working. A faint drizzle begins while I secure Serens buckle, from the far side of the car, clear as bell;
“Shit, it’s raining”
“Arran, what did you just say?” fingers crossed it was ‘ship’…
“I said shit daddy, shit it’s raining again”
“Umm Arran, where did you hear that from?” other fingers crossed it was mum…
“You daddy, you say it all the time, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!”
I wait til the evening and ask their mum if she’s ever noticed me swear. Evidently I do. A lot. Not just like a fish wife, but also like her sisters, her aunts, neighbours and all the other spouses of men gainfully employed in a variety of other professions as well.
Clearly I must cease the profanity instantly, although it’s become such second nature as to form an intrinsic part of my personality. I find this worrying. Casting my mind back, the most powerful and shocking swearing I have ever heard has come not from the words used, but because they have come from somone who doesn’t normally swear. I remember finding myself slightly in awe as a result. To me this demonstrates restraint and strength of character – traits I want to pass on to my kids.
In terms of parenting skills, Arran has moved on to trying to persuade his little sister to shout “Poo Poo!” and “Wee Wee!” at every opportunity, the rudest words he knows. We are meeting this with indifference and without acknowledging that he has said anything wrong. In theory this stops the words from becoming special and as before, removes their power. Hmmm we’ll see how it works out…
