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Whether it was a swift and seemingly innocuous outburst or a modern-day WTF, kids mimic our language, for better — or more often — for worse.
By Bruce Reynolds
It pays to take the long view in family dealings, and we learn, generally, from our children how to do things right. That’s if we’re paying attention in the first place.
An outstanding example of this principle took place as my wife, Jane, and I refurbished a home we’d bought. I was in what would become our 4-year-old daughter’s bedroom, stripping wallpaper, an annoying job that took no brainpower but became far more difficult by the heat and humidity. I used a steamer, which made things even worse, especially as I got into corners, where the heat and humidity had no place to escape, turning me into a soaking, grumbling mess.
I got too close to the business end of the steam-emitting stripper, burning my forearm. “Damn it!” I thundered. Little did I know our Cory was standing behind me, examining my work. I learned of her presence only when I heard little footsteps running at top speed, no doubt to report this breach of family etiquette.
Oh, yes, we had language rules, and I tried to stick to them. I knew how quick children are to pick up parental habits and speech patterns.
I thought I’d gotten away with it, until dinner a few nights later. Cory, our 4-year-old, reached for a plate of food that we passed to her, and tipped over her glass of milk. This caused the usual mad scramble to clean up the liquid, with the usual murmurings of “It’s OK, we’ll clean it up.”
“Dammit!” our daughter thundered, doing her best to imitate my level of frustration during the steamer episode. Jane and I blithely ignored this outburst, hoping against hope if we said or did nothing, it would pass and be forgotten.
No such luck. “I said ‘Dammit!, Dad,” she reiterated, this time just a bit louder than the first. She looked at us both, expecting smiles, maybe, or congratulations. My wife frowned, and, heaven help me, I tried in this potentially teachable moment.
Her smile grew as mine spread across my face. That, of course, spawned a flurry of “dammits.” Jane was not pleased. I couldn’t stop laughing, which prompted Cory to keep laughing. Jane eventually gave in to a few giggles, against her better judgment.
Later, we explained to Cory that the word had no place in a 4-year-old’s vocabulary. We told Cory that we had been through it as kids, but that we had to endure getting our mouths washed out with soap. That scared her straight, all right.
The lesson, of course, is to keep your head on a swivel when an epithet looks like it’s about to explode. Those words are small, but they have teeth that will bite you back.
Bruce Reynolds is the father of three and grandfather of four. He teaches journalism and management at Rutgers University.
