proFANity

Sometimes, I like to swear.

The truth is using profane language is absolutely a part of who I am. I'm not proud of it. I realize it is a risk to even confess this sin, but I still hesitate to apologize much less completely cease my crude vocabulary. I just don't see it as an all or nothing issue. Words are powerful and there is a reason they exist.

The complexities of choosing to use or not to use profanity are real. The ol' “there is a time and a place” might be a start, but even that oversimplifies it. I would even contend that unexpected profanity can elicit the exact effect one seeks! Even a stodgy aging school teacher can win over 99% of her class with a single wry “Hell no,” at just the right time. I know; I've done it.

Rhett Butler would never gain our respect without his famous “Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn!”

I recall when the cast of “Friends” first openly used the B-word on prime time television. I admit, I had mixed feelings. It was lowering the cultural bar for sure. It was also pretty funny. I like funny. I liked the characters, and I could see that they were still good people. I understood the moral ambiguity.

Profanity always risks harsh judgment from the rare conservative and occasionally prudish few. Oh, don't think I haven't been confronted. Yet, after 23 years of teaching, and toning down my profanity considerably, some lighter uses of profanity on rare occasions still earns a resounding nod of the collective head. The vast majority actually thank me for setting the classroom tone, not for a crude lack of boundaries but for a refreshingly real environment. It implies the very equality our youth crave, to be spoken to as an adult, even if just for a rare moment, to be granted a grain of camaraderie.

Most people think, then, that I do it on purpose. They'd be wrong. I don't do it on purpose. Let me explain. I have a very bad habit of being myself no matter where I go. I also have an interesting mix of social circles. My family would fall in the category of refined and affluent and readily curb their language as their ancestors have taught them. They also fall under the category of “fun” and rarely judge those who come from a rougher world. They'd be more likely to find someone's use of profanity amusing or simply observe it with curiosity or quietly tolerate it knowing not all people are the same – which is the epitome of 'having class' by the way. Thus, I've been spared the shame of their disapproval, and yes, I probably swear less around them. I'm not completely narcissistic.

My 12-year-old refuses to use profanity in front of me, and will even apologize if the movie he selected uses light profanity. Bless that sweet boy.

However, I also spend about 90% of my free time with a completely different crowd, and it does not escape me that their influence is present. These folks would use the F-bomb in front of their own grandmother! Ex-cons, homeless vagrants, toothless cackling fat men with receding hairlines and wimpy ponytails still riding their hogs – the kind on two wheels – not the Kentucky sort. People who have lived three or four lives before they hit their 30's. Walking miracles recovering from themselves.

Why would I understand terms like “class” and “refined”, and the fact that a laced up leather brazier does not win elections, then turn around and spend my time with the rugged, caustic users of profanity?

I'm doing everything in my power now not to use the Jesus angle.

I guess I have to admit I just like them. I feel free, free to say whatever I wish. And I don't stop using big words for them, so why should I stop using profanity for others? I could adapt and I suppose I do to some degree, but the bottom line is this: I have a filthy habit of just saying what I am thinking and it is usually something halfway intelligent, occasionally witty and from time to time peppered with offensive terms. I've no doubt half the authors of the classics I teach were rife with profanity and numerous scandals to boot! That just might be why they were so wise and interesting and treacherous and tragic in spite of their gifts.

Is it possible the way my speech is received says more about those offended?

Believe it or not, I have been the offended. I GET IT! When I walk down the school hallway and students all around me are using the strongest of profanity from their already limited 200-word bank; I feel accosted.  I'm a TEACHER. I'm RIGHT HERE! Stop slinging your F-this and F-that at my preppy white capris!

Tone it down for those who don't know you. Be sensitive to the sensitive. Show respect. Call me a hypocrite if you wish; I've been called worse. There will always be those who see me as eventually damned. There will always be those who take my words out of context and have a field day! They surely are righteous indeed.

Nonetheless, if you are having a rough day and your dad didn't come home last night and your mom was crying into her coffee as you left the house and your boyfriend texted you that “it's over” like the coward you sensed he was, then come on in, have a seat in my classroom, grab a tissue and spill a few horrifically profane ear wrenching words, You Darling Sweetypie. Know with certainty that I would take a bullet for you. Feel the rightness of knowing you will heal. I'll be here all hour to help you let it go.