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2002 03 16
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I have been a long-time curser. I can probably curse more, and in more languages, and in more and different ways, than many of the people I know; this includes the traditional curse-laden such as miners, truck drivers, and fisherman, to which many I am related.
A friend of mine says that I use the word "fuck" more creatively than almost any person she's ever met. I wonder if that's going to be my only claim to fifteen minute fame?
My crib used to be in my grandparents' bedroom apparently, and my grandmother says she used to lay in bed laughing herself to tears, while I lay in my crib uttering language that would turn blue, the hair of many a big, burly construction worker.
When I was about two years-old, and being the typical two year-old, I would run around with as few pieces of clothing on as was humanly possible. Except for once. That would be the day I ran outside wearing my rubber boots and rain hat - but nothing else.
Having espied two ladies of Catholic nun appearance I, in my nearly-nudeness and at the top of my lungs, proceeded to scream, "Jesus christ, them fucking nuns are coming up the street again!"
I was apparently hauled into the house most speedily, while my grandmother went on with her dieing of shame.
While I'm not certain my language has improved all that much over the years, I am certain of one thing - now I know what the words mean.
I wonder if that tale outshines the time I was a year old, and cracked my sleeping grandfather between the eyes with a wine bottle.