Swearing. Such a *#💩👹?*💀*#💩👹*%* issue to tackle. I mean, what is it, these days? Language is used much more liberally than when I was growing up (showing my age again here!). Words that I don’t particularly like are casually bandied around, but they’re no really longer considered “bad”. Many people take the line, “It’s just words. What’s your problem?” That’s a fair point. And threatening to wash out foul mouths with soap just doesn’t wash these days – so to speak!
I don’t recall my parents ever swearing. “Hells’ bells” was about as bad as it got. Probably as a result, I rarely swear, and neither does Hubby Wombat. Our kids are growing up in an expletive-deficient household – at least, as far as their parents go. But not to worry. Their vocabulary knowledge is certainly not being stunted as a result.
Like all of us, our Wombats encounter people swearing everywhere they go: in the playground, on the train, in the street, on TV. What can I say? In some cases, people’s use of the vernacular seems to illustrate a fairly concise vocabulary, where the patterns of daily life are consigned to descriptions of excrement, intimate body parts or acts which nine year olds don’t really need to know about. In other cases, swear words replace adverbs, colourful – if somewhat deviant – alternatives to the word “very”. Sigh. It’s normalised. Like computer game violence. Water off a duck’s back. How can I teach manners and courteous speech in this environment?
I persist though. I’m trying to teach my kids that, like dress codes, there are environments and situations where people have particular expectations about the type of language used. As well, the profile of family violence has been on the rise over the last year. Many are sadly aware that this can begin with disrespectful language.
I don’t mean the words that come out when you hit your finger with the hammer. Or when your child vomits – again – over their thrice-changed sheets. Not the sharp exclamation when you realise that you’ve forgotten to do something important. Or even – to put a positive slant on things – the words used to describe a bloody brilliant achievement. I mean the sort of language that is targeted at people, rather than things. Language that is not just used to express frustration, but which seems calculated to demoralise and demean, to bully and intimidate. Even if the speaker doesn’t consciously intend them that way, as with bullying, it is the listener’s perception which is key.
So, you might say, don’t worry about it. Ignore the words. “La, la la” – I’m not listening. But it’s not that easy. Words have power – that’s why they’re used to exert power. Words are used to uplift and throw down. To heal, and to hurt. They’re arrows, which – once sent speeding towards a target – cannot be brought back, and can inflict long-lasting wounds. It’s important that we learn to use them wisely.
We try to model respect at home, and to teach our kids that being disrespectful is unacceptable. How you speak to someone – as well as the words you use – shows the degree of respect you have. It’s not daggy or old-fashioned to dislike inappropriate language. Even if used in the heat of the moment, it is important for our kids to later recognise and acknowledge that their choice of words was hurtful, insensitive, even abusive – and apologise. And if the use of such language is not challenged at the time, I worry that it can lead to the person using it thinking that it’s all okay.
Three out of the four Wombats are really good with this. In fact, Littlest Wombat gets very upset when he hears rude and abusive language, and Free running Wombat flinches also. Dancing Wombat, with her different level of comprehension, either looks shocked or laughs, and says “I don’t say things like that!”
But there is one Wombat who often takes issue with what we find rude, crude, offensive or just plain abusive. When he is in “the mood”, he can be frightening to behold and worse to hear. He scares his siblings, and worries us. Will repetition create a habit that will be hard to break? His psychologist doesn’t think so, but this doesn’t stop our concerns.
Yes, I know. “Polite” and “teenager” aren’t always words one expects to find in the same sentence. But there are degrees. And Train Wombat takes these through the whole 360, and then some.
If he is in “king” mode and we – the peasants – are blocking his royal progress, he doesn’t hold back. In the old idiom, language that would make a sailor blush can spew from his mouth, wrapped in a thick coating of vitriol and bitterness. We, his audience, are nonentities – mere ants, to be ground under the heel of his anger or frustration. And the expletives seem more than a way to vent his spleen. In the heat of the moment, they seem designed to bully and bend us to his will.
Having said that, there is one small positive in all the ugliness of Train Wombat’s language, when he is in full melt-down or “king” mode. I have never seen him directly abuse or insult his sister, although he insults and demeans his two brothers with callous disregard for how his words and manner affect them (he has, on occasions, reduced both to tears, and sent Littlest Wombat cowering under his doona).
We have learned from experience that arguing with him about his language is futile. Expecting him to stop and apologise is useless. Nevertheless, believe me, we call him on this behaviour every time. We point out that his language is unacceptable – whether it’s just plain rude or aggressively abusive. Even though our words seem to have no effect, maybe something will sink in? We worry that if we don’t try and hold him accountable, he will have no reason to rein in his bilious speech. He will just continue to speak without thinking, and more significantly – will do so in environments where there will be worse consequences than just frustrating his parents and upsetting his siblings.
In fact, this has already happened, in a small way. Recently, a particularly fruity email sent to his father resulted in Train Wombat’s email address being blocked. The message contained an overabundance of words which – despite their relation to the digestive system (especially what comes out and from where) – the filter couldn’t digest.
Talk about “Do as I say, not as I do”. Train Wombat’s actions here were particularly hard to understand. He had recently dealt with a social media issue where one of his close friends was removed from a page due to the vile and abusive language the friend was using there. “Idiot,” was my son’s response to his friend’s lack of moderation. And yet less than a month later here he was, doing exactly the same thing.
During one recent exchange of views (more of a verbal boxing match, really), we asked him – again – to stop swearing in our presence. He denied – as usual – that he was swearing, then left the room. A few minutes later though, he reappeared, cloaked in self-righteousness and girdled with smugness.
Why? He’d looked up some obscure court case which had ruled “bloody” wasn’t a swear word because it was in general usage in Australian English. Well, yes, “bloody” is pretty tame these days, and has always been so in comparison to other words. But it wasn’t the only descriptor in his conversation. In addition, context and tone of voice adds a lot. As we tell our Wombats, it’s not just what you say but how you say it. However, Train Wombat refused to acknowledge all this. The King, of course, is never wrong.
So here we are, at one of our many impasses. Admittedly, when melting down, logic doesn’t hold sway. But even in the calm after the storm, Train Wombat finds it hard to acknowledge when his speech has been inappropriate and hurtful. Whether he acknowledges it to himself is another matter – we can only hope.
How should we tackle it?
- Having a “swear” jar won’t work – he’s not earning enough pocket money to lose any through swearing.
- Tacking it onto any existing incentive schemes won’t work – he’d just accuse us (once again) of being hypocrites and changing the rules part way through.
- Rewarding him for not abusing us when he’s at the end of his tether? Hmm, possible, maybe, but I’m not sure how we’d work it. And it seems like too much of an ask for him at this stage. If only it was still enough for goodness to be its own reward.
However, Train Wombat has been muttering about getting his “L” plates. He’s still a bit young, but I think it could be a logical and fair way to approach the issue. He’s superficially aware that he needs a large number of hours of driving practice under his belt. And we have pointed out to him that neither of us will feel like taking him for a drive while he continues to treat us with contempt at best, and abusively at worst.
This gives him a bit more time to mature, and develop better, less potentially harmful ways to express his anger and frustration. Best of all, there’s a really logical consequence if he doesn’t. I’m sure our family is not alone in wrestling with this issue though. Ideas are always welcome!
Happy wombatting!
