We’ve been trying to teach our children that there are no “bad words”. We teach them that there are times when it is not appropriate to use certain words, but the words are not “bad” in and of themselves. This is a difficult message. Society says there ARE bad words. But really, words have only the meaning we give them. The next time you meet someone who speaks a foreign (to you) language, ask them to cuss you out. They might just think you are severely whacked in the head and will actually cuss you out (asking to be cussed out in many cultures can be somewhat taboo). It means nothing if you don’t understand it.
The other day I took the little ones out to see “Miz No-well-a” (Navella King). I really love Navella and try to see her when I can. She’s a very dear lady, but she’s also 76 and typical of her generation, Old School about language. This is not a bad thing, it just is what it is. Visiting Navella is a time to use discresion in chosing language.
Quentin loves all things “potty”:
“Buttpoop” (his own invented word)
This is probably extremely typical of a just-turned-four year old boy. (Not having ever been a just-turned-four year old boy myself, this is just a guess, but Kevin tells me I’m on the right track.) During our visit to Miz No-well-a, Quentin brought out each of these words and paraded them around the red carpet. Discresion is a difficult incumberment to a 4 yr old, I’m sure, but I really did try my best to explain the “no potty talk” rule to him. There’s just no stopping Quentin when he gets started talking about his penis. Sorry Navella.