When we lived in Inuvik (circa 1980) W thought it would be a lot of fun to put together a dog team, so he did. The frustration and hard work involved in raising and training the dogs far outweighed the fun I’m afraid . And the dozen or so dogs didn’t just disappear with the snow. They required care throughout the long summers, when the town became a sweltering dust bowl in the heat, and a slippery filthy mud hole in the rain.
One muddy Inuvik afternoon my daughter and I had this conversation:
Mommy, goddamn is a really bad word.
(Yes it is, and telling me that is not an acceptable way to get away with saying it.)
Little kids should NEVER say goddamn. right mom?
(No, they shouldn’t, so now would you please stop saying it?)
But mom, its okay for dads to say goddamn.
(Really? Why do you think it’s okay for dads?)
Because there’s GODDAMN DOGS and GODDAMN MUD!
She sounded just like him.
Fast forward about twenty-five years to a conversation I had with my granddaughter when she was three or four.
Crap is not a nice word, grandma.
(Nope, it isn’t. So let’s not say it, okay?)
But sometimes you can say crap and its okay.
Yep. Like when you’re feeling sick, you can say “Mommy, I feel like crap.”
(Ah. I see.)
But if your mom looks at you when you’re sick and she says you look like crap, THEN its a bad word.
(Huh. You are your mother’s daughter, and I totally get your point.)