"Tell Uncle, 'Bullshit'."
"Bullshit."
"I can't believe you just told your kid to say bullshit."
"Well, she's gotta learn when to call bullshit."
This exchange took place a few weeks ago between my brother and me, and, obviously, my 20 month old non-stop-talking daughter.
I do not regret teaching her to say "bullshit." It was appropriate at the time. Teno was unloading some serious BS on me, and we called him on it, my toddler and me. It is something I would say in the situation, and I do not plan on raising my daughter in the do as I say and not as I do fashion.
I do not have a problem with curse words. They have their place. "Shit" is my most frequently used curse word, but, to be completely frank, when I am very angry, I will employ "fuck."
Yep, it has happened in front of my daughter, and yes, you guessed correctly, she repeated right after me.
What did I do? Nothing. What could I do? I moved on. She doesn't walk around the house cursing, she has never randomly repeated those words. She picked up on a moment. She engaged in the conversation. There is only pride to be found in her engagement with language. As she grows, I will teach her the appropriate use of those words. Not that they are taboo, or evil, or punishable, only that there is a time and a place.
I remember once when my sister was a teenager and her father was railing at her for some slight. He was being relentless, pushing at her, allowing his infamous temper to spill out onto her. At one point, she got up from the table they were sitting at and said, "you're an asshole!" and stormed off to her room. Of course, as is typical in these situations, a huge fight ensued, and the focus of the conflict centered on her calling her father an asshole.
This shift of focus is a problem for me. He was, in fact, being an asshole. Did he look at himself for one moment and ask himself if her estimation of him was correct? No, of course not. As Mathilda's father says, "You're small; I'm big. You're weak; I'm strong. You're stupid; I'm smart." Kids are taught to behave as their parents tell them to.
Unfortunately for many parents, what kids actually learn about life comes from what they observe, not from what they are commanded.
Language is not bad or good; it is simply all too often used incorrectly.
While I will not teach my daughter to never say "shit" until her eighteenth birthday (at which point she must move out, take full responsibility for herself, get a job, find some place to live, and oh yea, get an education, and otherwise do whatever she wants, except drink an alcoholic beverage), what I will teach her is not to say she is sorry if she is not. I want her not to say "I love you," if she doesn't. I will teach her to think before she speaks (goddess knows it took me years of foot-in-the-mouth disease to figure that one out). If she says she will be somewhere, or do something, then she should do it. I want my daughter to learn about the importance of words.
Words mean something. They have power.
When I get really angry with my husband I will tell him: "I hate you! I don't really hate you, but god I just hate you right now! I don't hate you. Ugh!"
Call me Sybil.
But I need to say those words sometimes because it is the only way I can express just how angry I am. They are the only words I have for that level of frustration and rage. I am trying to hold it together, not to throw a temper tantrum (like the much younger Shanna would have), and I push those words at him. But because I am more mature now, because I understand the full import of words, especially those ones, especially in a marriage, I have to include my disclaimer.
I have found myself often wishing I could grab the words out of the air as they are coming out of my mouth, racing toward my intended victim, and eat and swallow those words back up.
Too late. The damage has been done. And it seems it takes a thousand more words of making up to ameliorate the few angry ones, the hurtful ones.
In addition to not saying things she doesn't mean, I want my daughter to learn from me to say things that must be said, even when it is difficult to say, and probably difficult to hear.
My student's often come to see me without having done the homework I have assigned.
"So, do you not care how you perform on the test then?" I'll ask.
Many of my students do not know how to respond to this.
"Um, yea I do," is a common response.
"Then why are you not making the practice a priority?"
"Because I don't have time. I'm busy. I have a ton of homework at school."
"Then maybe you should not be taking the test right now."
"I have to. My parents are making me. This is my last chance."
"Well then, suck it up, do the work, and celebrate when it's over. It's a few weeks of your life, and once you take the test, it will all be behind you, and you'll be glad you made the time. Or don't. Don't do the work. Don't invest the time. Go in, do the best you can, and don't worry about it. But do not, I am telling you, do not lament the fact that you didn't do well, that now you can't get into that school you really wanted to get into. Life is a series of choices, and this one is yours to make, now."
I have given a version of this speech so many times and in so many different scenarios over the last several years that it is starting to feel rote. But I think it works. I think it works because my students typically do well, typically try harder, and typically come back for more abuse. I have a reputation for being a tough tutor and teacher. But more importantly, the words work because I mean them. I mean them with every fiber of my being. I speak from a place of experience and of genuine interest in my students' success. My words are true. They hit home. One of my students said to me the other day, "I like all the tutors here. Everyone is great. But you are my favorite. You don't bullshit me."
As to your nagging question about what I am going to do when Celaya gets to school and starts calling her classmates and her teachers on all their bullshit?
I'm thinking of homeschooling.
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