?@#&%!

Since I first told my dad to eff off when I was in fifth grade, I have enjoyed the thrill of a good curse word.  We were in the backyard, playing two v two basketball.  Playing that day were my dad (6'2"), my uncle (5'10"), and my other uncle (6'5"), all in their thirties, and me.  At 5'3", I was tall for my age, but I was nine and had only ever played soccer.  In other words, I thought I was nice for evening out the teams.  I can't remember exactly what happened, but my dad, my teammate, was getting on my case about posting up or something and I snapped "You know what, Dad?!  You can f--k off!"

Everyone stopped.  My uncles' mouths hung open and my dad's lips pressed together, his nostrils flared--the deadly combination I knew as his angriest face.  I didn't wait for a response.  I just turned and went inside, sending myself to my room.

Here's the thing though.  From my room, where I peeked down onto the half court he'd put in, all I could hear was laughter.  My dad was laughing, my uncles were still laughing, my mom and aunts had come over and they were laughing.  And I felt better, having expressed my roiling emotions with just a short pithy phrase.   I probably could have gone down and started playing again, no harm, no foul.  Instead I chose to stay inside reading the Babysitters Club book where Stacy tries to ignore her diabetes problem, wanting to eat chocolate like Claudia and the girls, for probably the 105th time.  

I've told that story to my students before and most are horrified or shocked.  They try to imagine what their mom would do, but can't find the words and just shake their heads wide-eyed.  I figure that's just the South for you.  My family, California born and bred, is more informal.  With the exception of my Grandfather--ironically the former Marine--everyone curses at some level.  My immediate family is probably the worst.  While I try not to curse at people, there's hardly anything I wouldn't say in front of my parents and brothers.  My husband's the same way.  No one bats an eye at even the most colorful language.

Therefore, when I consider the issue of whether or not I should include profanity in my book, I'm stuck.  My characters are the kind of people that would never use the "f" word, especially at another family member, but they are normal teenagers.  How do I convey a sense of realism without the occasional four letter word? It drives me nuts on Breaking Bad that amid all the mayhem, the worst they say is the occasional shit. I know, I know...it's on basic cable.  But still--they're dealing meth!

Now you might agree with those whom forswear swearing.  Class acts like Bill Cosby and George Washington have maligned it. Even Chloe Grace Moretz has weighed in, saying "I was raised to think cursing makes you look unintelligent."  There is probably a lot to be said for that.  However, I think I'm going to have to respectfully disagree and come down on the side of Mark Twain, someone I am much more likely to have ever hung out with.  He asserts that: "There ought to be a room in every house to swear in. It's dangerous to have to repress an emotion like that." Say what you want about gratuitous cursing, but as an intensifier or an expletive, dropping some Anglo-Saxon words can really take the edge off.

Chloe Moretz:  a true lady

So, here's how I plan to approach it:  there will be metaphorical rooms in my book, spaces where I let the profane creep in.  However, I will pledge to try and make sure it's purposeful.  I hope to find the right balance of authenticity and decorum.  Maybe that will help me be a little less gratuitous with the vulgarisms in my own speech.  Because eventually that shit's going to wind up biting me in the ass.