I took Nicholas to a friend's bookstore. Mary Popovich loves little children. Mary gave him a book which he shyly accepted.
On the drive home I asked him if he remembered Mary's name.
"No," he replied.
"Her name is Mary Popovich," I reminded him.
He grew silent. He looked a little troubled.
"Uncle Karl did you just call her a ... a... a..."
"Uncle Karl can I swear?"
"Of course! When you're with me, you can swear all you want."
"Did you just call her a bitch?"
"No no VICH. Not BITCH. Mary PopoVICH."
He grew silent again and then looked at me "Uncle Karl is it true what you said? Can I swear when I'm with you?"
"Of course, Nick! As long as we're not in front of your mom."
He leaned forward in the passenger seat, as if he was afraid the force of his expelled words might thrust him back. He released "FUCK SHIT! ASSHOLE FUCKER! COCK SHIT! COCK FUCKER! FUCKING ASSHOLE! MOTHER FUCKING SHITHEAD!"
He went on for a considerable amount of time, trying all his swear words in various combinations. I recognized my sister's considerable repertoire.
He grew silent again. I could only imagine he needed to catch his breath.
"Did you know 'bugger' is a swear word?"
"I am aware."
He leaned forward again, "FUCKING BUGGER! BUGGER ASSHOLE! SHIT BUGGER! BUGGER FUCKER! COCK BUGGER ASSWIPE!"
It seems the poor little guy was concerned I'd not pick up that "bugger" was a swear word from context.
* * *
Copyright 2002 Karl Mamer
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