I loved Red Skelton – even had the privilege to meet him
once – and I completely understand his choice to eschew the use of profanity. For
Mr. Skelton, it was an absolute rule: “If you can’t be funny without
profanity,” he told me (me, and about 10,000 others in attendance that evening), “Chances are you aren't very funny to
begin with.”
He could be right, but I sure do laugh at a colorful turn of
phrase every now and then. Naughty is naughty, whether it’s George Carlin’s
list of The Words You Can't Say on TV, or Red’s Mean Widdle Kid - and in the hands
of gifted performers, the entire spectrum of naughty can be darned funny
indeed.
Clem Kadiddlehopper’s gentle tenet notwithstanding, I confess to my
own occasional indulgence in expletive expression, and confirm my unwillingness
to remove an entire phalanx of communication from my creative armamentarium,
either visually or verbally.
I may choose to limit what I lift from my personal lexicon,
just as my wife chooses colors from her palette of paints – but I do so to
enhance my work, not because I feel like I'm getting away with anything.
Not everything people do is clean and pretty. Redd Foxx used
to say, "There's a reason why I use words like $%*#, and %^@&. . . People
do." Such functional activities
can certainly be described in non-profane terms, appropriately and to great
effect. I applaud anyone creative enough, talented enough, or even virtuous
enough to do that. I also applaud those who are creative enough, talented enough,
and virtuous enough use scatological terms effectively, unvarnished and (sic)
un-adulterated.
There's a reason why I use such language, and occasionally
such imagery. These words reside in their own area of the brain, apart from our
regular vocabulary. (I find that special anatomical treatment noteworthy, and
endlessly intriguing.) Employed thoughtfully, they add to the content, the
depth, the meaning, the clarity, and the humor of my work, as well as my daily
conversation.
Children understand profanity and its appropriate use before
they're two years old. They even know to modify their language among differing
social groups, absorbing cues from their social environment, and directly the
admonitions of parents and teachers.
After a half century of such training, even I am beginning
to catch on. When I speak to church groups, elementary students, a barroom full
of Marines, or even a motley group of writers or artists, I find I am quite
capable of adjusting the content of my presentation accordingly.
By the time they could speak in sentences, both of my sons
understood that the word ‘dam’ meant a wall of rocks and mud that held back
water in the creek, and something people say sometimes when they are upset.
Their preschool teacher once pulled me aside to report that one of the boys
said ‘dammit’ out loud in her class that day. She assured me that it wasn’t something he had learned in
daycare, since none of her teachers spoke that way to the children, and she
hoped the incident wouldn't reflect poorly on the school.
“Don't worry,” I told her. “He learned it from me.”
Her relief melted into shocked amusement. “I’ve been
teaching little ones for 16 years, and you're the first parent who has ever
admitted that!”
Why wouldn't I? I want my kids to be functionally literate
as they navigate their way through life. Profanity, from the vulgar to the
refined, will permeate their experience in society, in popular media, in
literature, in their business and personal interactions.
Ignorance is seldom an asset in the real world.
When my kids were a little older, around 6 or 7, they wanted
to see a Jackie Chan movie (which I was assured would be ‘family friendly’), to
celebrate their advancement to yellow belt in Tae Kwon Do. Chan was as jovial and entertaining as ever,
though his partner relied more on verbal assaults to subdue bad guys than his martial
arts skills.
On the way back to the car, my seven year old asked the
obvious question: “Dad, why do grown-ups say ‘bullshit’ so much?” – a query
that instantly brought back the taste of the ivory soap that my grandmother
used to wash out my mouth, the first and only time I uttered that word in her
presence. Must’ve been just about his age…
“Dad?”
“What, son?”
“Why do grown-ups say ‘bullshit’ so much? That guy sure said
it a lot in the movie.”
I tried not to laugh at his innocent question, or his
earnest sincerity - grateful that his great-grandmother was nowhere within
earshot. Couldn't help smiling, though.
“Well, that’s kind of an adult word for nonsense, son. Grown-ups say that whenever they think of something
that it worthless. I guess they could say ‘Big piles of marshmallow crème!’,
but that stuff is too tasty. See what I mean?”
His little brother giggled and mimicked: “Big piles of
marshmallow creeeme!”
The older boy thought for a minute, furrowing his brow as he
climbed into the car, and buckled his seatbelt.
“That’s silly,” he said, finally. “That stuff is not either
worthless. People could put it in their compost pile. Then it would grow yummy
vegetables.”
That it would, my boy.
That it would.
That it would.
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