My Favorite Curse Word

Who has two thumbs and curses better than you do?

I am a fan of stories…
so I especially appreciate good storytellers
in whatever form they arrive.

Adam likes it when I tell stories with bite
which means when I tell them
I have to show my teeth.

Here’s a little post with teeth.
No worries.
I’m only going to break skin.
There will be no rending of flesh.

Goddammit is my favorite curse word.
To those God fearing readers,
my apologies for any offense.

Goddammit is a powerful word.
Being the son of a minister,
I don’t think I ever heard my father curse in anger.
But my Grandfather…
Well, that’s another story.

The truth is, he rarely cursed
but I’m sure there were plenty who cursed him.

I could tell you all sorts of stories about my Grandfather, “Big Frankie,”
but those left living would make my life far too difficult.

So, I’ll tell you a little story that won’t get me in too much trouble
about he and I and
how I started cursing.

When I was in the fourth grade, I stopped talking.
Talking didn’t get me to where I wanted to be.
It got me ridiculed.
It got me isolated.
It just got me.

So I stopped.
I stopped talking.
I was exhibiting what could be classified as selective mutism.

But over winter vacation, I was with my grandfather
when he happened to be racing a heifer on his tractor
trying to steer her back into the corral.

Expletives were being forcefully expelled out of his mouth
but none were so powerful as:
Goddammit!

There is nothing like hearing a southern man
say Goddamnit when he means it.
Perhaps it’s that an antique southerner doesn’t use
words such as fuck, motherfucker or any other derivative
which of course, allows for extra emphasis for “son of a bitch”
or, of course, “goddammit.”

When I heard my grandfather say goddammit for the first time,
it affected me.
Completely.

When I came back from winter’s break,
I was still silent.
The teacher had left the classroom.
We were working alone at our tables of four.
I was at the back of the classroom facing the right wall.

I got frustrated.
I got tired of not getting what I wanted.
I got tired of not talking…and so I did.
Can you guess what I said?
“GODDAMMIT!”

It took every 10 year old’s breath away.
Then I knew.
I knew I didn’t have to go any further
in order to know I was willing
to go further than they were.
That was a valuable lesson.

My Father, the minister, can make anything into a lesson.
I like that and I try to do the same.
So what’s the lesson from my inheritance of, “Goddammit?”

We need more people who will go further…
who know there is no line
who want to see who much further they can go
and are willing to unfuck their shit to get there.
(maybe we’ll let Glass write an article on those two curse words.)

So go ahead,
let loose a goddammit
and see if you can go a little further forward
in any direction.

fF