Strategic Swearing

As we head into fall with our calendars carefully coordinated, piano lessons penned in next to sports practices and Pampered Chef parties, I want to cuss a little. It is sometimes wise, and when used in the proper context, swearing – especially to or at our kids – can be highly motivating.

I’m a Hockey Mom, which means I sit in the stands yelling GO-GO-GO! and GET THE PUCK! as if I have half a clue of what I’m talking about. It also means I’ve got to get my kids dressed in about a ton of gear while they are busy high-fiving their friends. I usually cuss when I have to lace the skates, but that is in a hushed tone. It’s the pissed-off-hope-the-other-parents-don’t-hear kind of swearing. That’s not what this is about.

At a recent hockey practice, I wanted my son to care. This is his third year playing and he just doesn’t seem interested. However, when I ask if he wants to play in the tournament that’s 5 hours and $500 away, he’s suddenly interested.

Anything to swim in a hotel pool.

He doesn’t have to play well, I just want him to play hard – like he wants it. At least as hard as his little sister is all I ask. Months of nagging and pleading with him to get dressed faster, skate harder, and go for the puck had proved unsuccessful. He responds well to my husband’s pep talks so I thought I’d give that a try. Supportive Mom – that’s me!

But what was that?

I know the basics: skate, puck, mouth guard. I have even been known to scream Keep your stick down! during particularly lively games – though I haven’t a clue why. Other people are yelling so I chime in. Having been more of the Choir/Drama Club kind of girl so I don’t really know what I’m talking about when it comes to sports. Maybe if they sold beer at these things…

Anyway. I tried to I keep the Momming to a minimum and conjure motivating sports talk as I got him dressed. Nothing was coming. The combination of his apathy and my determination not to point it out made me want to drop an F-Bomb.

This frustration led to my epiphany. I didn’t know sports, but I knew my expletives. I’d use that to my advantage. Just before my son put on his helmet, I grasped his shoulders, looked him in the eyes and said,

“Listen to me.”

He looked at me with that bored yeah-what? expression.

“I want you to go out there –”

I lowered my head and looked out over my glasses.

“ — and KICK SOME ASS!!!”

His eyes almost popped out.

“I know,” I said. “And no, you’re not allowed to say that, but I am.”

His surprise turned to determination and the kid moved like I’ve never seen. He had his helmet strapped in an instant, hit the ice with a fury, smacked his stick against the puck and almost scored a goal.

Nothing sparks maternal pride like an ass-kicker.

So then I started to wonder what other situations might benefit from a little strategic swearing.

Clean up your F***ing room!

Eat the G** D*** mushroom!

Get your S**t off the yard!

I started thinking this could work. Of course, it would be a fine line to walk. I wouldn’t want the kid so desensitized that my swearing it loses its effect. It’ll take time to learn to pepper the profanity in just right – strategically.

What about good parenting? To hell with it. He’s going to learn to swear somewhere. May as well be from a pro.