Swears

Mom and Dad, you'd better not read this post. This is a fair warning.

Growing up in Orem, aka Family City USA, aka Happy Valley, aka The Highest Percentage of Mormons Ever Assembled Since 1847, life was good and clean. The biggest problem was the consumption of caffeinated sodas, but that was stopped by the Prohibition Act of 1988. That opened up a whole new bootlegging industry, but that's for another post.

This one is about swears. In Orem, especially at the Hansen household, I grew up not knowing what swears were. In fact, at my house, you couldn't say the following words:

Butt
Crap
Shut Up
Fart

And you sure as fetchin' HECK couldn't say any swears. And, for some reason, there was no punishment for saying the wrong words. No soap in the mouth and no swear jar. Us kids had no problem with this, because we had appropriate substitutes (in respective order):

Rump
Grunt
Be Quiet
Bep or Big G

Most of you are familiar with the first and third on the list, and I'm not going to explain number 2 (I swear I didn't do that intentionally), but the fourth? You deserve an explanation.

I'm not really sure where Big G came from. I just know that when somebody tooted, the rule was that you said "Excuse me" to all offended parties. When nobody claimed a certain stench, Mom would say, "Who had a Big G?" Thinking about it now just cracks me up.

Once, when we were driving to Salt Lake, we saw this G on the mountain in Pleasant Grove, just like the Y in Provo. So us little kids, probably 6 of us crammed in the carpeted back section of the station wagon (no seats and certainly no seat belts back there), saw it and enthusiastically yelled, "THERE'S A BIG G ON THE MOUNTAIN!!!!" and laughed all the way to Salt Lake about it. Then, on the way back, right when we were just about to forget about the impossibly hilarious Big G on the mountain, we saw it again and renewed our laughter. Our parents probably had been wishing that we'd never connect our euphemism with the actual Big G.

I'm not entirely sure about the origins of "Bep", either. I know my brother Brian invented it, but I'm not sure how. All I know is that when he said it, it just felt right. It was a great word, and it quickly replaced Big G as the main euphemism.

Because we were so well-trained, I never used those words. Although there was one time when my older brother Craig was playing us twerps in basketball, 3 on 1 with a mini ball. Craig was about 15 at the time, and we were 11, 9, and 7. He was having a horrible night and then, after he'd missed his umpteenth shot in a row, he took the ball, punted it about 563 feet in the air, and yelled, "gosh-DARN it!!!". We twerps looked at each other with quivering lips, as if we'd just witnessed a stabbing. "Is this what it was like when Bambi died?" we asked each other. The terror of that moment made me that much more committed to a Life Without Swears.

That changed. When all the kids in 3rd grade were saying "butt" with impunity, I felt left out. If I said "rump", I'd look like a fool. So I just avoided it altogether. But sometimes, you HAVE to say it. "Where's that sticker?" My friend would ask. "Oh, it's on your...", I hesitated, just like when you know you're about to do something wrong, "...BUTT." "Oh thanks."

Can you imagine what would've happened if I would've said "rump"?

Friend: Where's that sticker?
Me: Oh, it's on your rump.
Friend: My what?
Me: Your RUMP.
Friend: What's a rump?
Me: You know, what your grunt comes out of.
Friend: My what?
Me: Your grunt.
Friend: What's grunt?
Me: It's like a Big G, but in solid form.
Friend: Like a what?
Me: YOUR RUMP IS YOUR BUTT!!!
Friend: You call this a rump? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! Hey everybody, guess what Kent calls a butt? A "rump"!
Entire School: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!
Me: BE QUIET!! EVERYBODY JUST BE QUIET!!!
Entire School: What does "be quiet" mean?

Can't you just imagine? Of course, this scenario must have been avoided at all costs. So I quickly learned to say "butt" at school and "rump" at home. It's obvious now that although "butt" is not really that profane a word, it's what the experts call a "gateway swear", a swear that will lead to other, much worse swears, possibly leading to a lifelong addiction of profanity.

It's true that my willingness to say "butt" led to my first actual swear. We were in the 4th grade, preparing for the 4th grade play. We would go over to the Jr High to use their auditorium. I was a "Royal Dancer" for a meaningless 2-minute scene that got 40 kids a chance to get their names on the program. Then the rest of the time I would sit in the chorus and sing all the dumb songs we had to sing, like "Lavender Blue", for the 5 billionth time. It was worse than singing time in Primary. Well, we got bored of it and snuck into the bathroom, where we did Gosh-Knows-What in there for hours. Finally, Miss Nelson got word of it and burst into the bathroom, which was dark because we were telling ghost stories or something. She yelled, "ALL OF YOU BOYS BETTER GET BACK INTO THE AUDITORIUM OR YOU'RE GOING TO THE PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE!!!" and then left. I whispered to my friend:

"She's an @#*"

The moment it fell off my tongue I regretted it. First "butt" and now THIS? I was on the slippery slope. I repented immediately. And by repented, I mean I didn't tell anyone and showed no remorse.

Fast forward to the end of 7th grade, my first year of Jr. High. I was quickly becoming a nerd, despite my best efforts. I was in the Math Club and was in Algebra whereas most of my peers were in Pre-Algebra or that lower math class for the incredibly popular and stupid. My dad was the bishop, and all my siblings were Perfect Children. I didn't want to be the goody-goody or the nerd. That wasn't going to get me noticed by certain girls. I wanted to be the Bad Boy. I had to do something drastic. I need to start saying swears.

At first, it was just awkward, forced, and ill-timed. I'd say something out of context, like "I think that kid is a dang" just so I could swear. I tried to keep it to the mild ones like heck and durn until I mastered them. I was sure that I'd never stoop to the fetch level.

Even though I'd pretty much started on my own, I started spending time with a certain someone in my neighborhood, let's call him Tyler Fudd, who swore so much that even the bishopric knew about it. He was reckless with his swears, saying every which word at any which time with such eloquence and diction, it was as if Mr. Darcy had begun a career as a rapper. I learned from him, taking actual notes and asking him later what certain words meant. "Oh, I can't tell you that," was his reply.

This summer also coincided with other devious activities, much worse than swearing. But this isn't a confession of PT's. But by the end of the summer, I had mastered the art of cursing like a sailor, and was proud of it. I couldn't wait to go back to school and start dropping swears and watching the girls swoon.

I was the best at keeping it quiet. Even though my aforementioned devious activities were discovered by my parents (and I was appropriately punished, mind you), the swearing wasn't. I wasn't doing bad things anymore, but I could still be a bad boy by appearing bad and rehashing my devious activities at opportune times. But when I got home, I was never in trouble as long as my grades were up and my chores were finished. I checked my mouth at the door.

Once, however, I was playing basketball with my brother, Brian. I was playing miserably and missed shot after shot (why is it always basketball?). Somehow, I let a swear get out. "Dang-NAB it!" It was easily loud enough for him to hear. He confronted me about it in the kitchen. "Do you swear, Kent?" "That's the only word I say, I promise! Don't tell Mom and Dad!" He then gave me the scornful eye, but he never squealed.

I slipped! I was losing my edge. Then, one Sunday in Teacher's Quorum, Br. Parker taught a lesson on swearing. I swore (yukyuk) I would kick the habit. I started keeping track of the swears I said each day and tried to beat that record. It took a few months, but I got so good at it that I completely stopped swearing, even when I was angry.

I'm not sure when I started swearing again. I think it was sometime after college. I moved to Boston, and everybody here swears, even at work. ESPECIALLY at work. I'll be in a meeting with the partner and f-bombs will fly. Well, I'm not proud to say that I've picked up the durn and heck words again, and occasional bigger ones, usually involving road rage or pain. And definitely basketball. I think I'll need to start counting again, but I don't know if that will work because I say "dangit" under my breath so often. Maybe we could start a swear jar. Because when I would watch my soccer coach get upset, he would cuss and I was always proud that I never heard my parents swear. So I'd like to think that Hendrik would be proud.