The F Word

I was checking my e-mail this morning, and discovered I’d gotten a note from Mama. There was no file attachment, which meant it wasn’t pictures of my nephew. That was odd. The only reason my mother has internet at all is to send people pictures of Baby Jack.
What follows is the letter she composed.
My Dear Son:
It is that time of year again, when your Mama tries to "guilt" you into doing my will. Yes, Mother's Day is approaching, and even though I’m batting a thousand in getting from you what I want, I thought I would try one more time.
My wish for this year is simple: I would like for you to remove the “F” word from your vocabulary.
The only time, and I mean only, this word was deemed appropriate, was then that f***ing duck ran into my car resulting in thirteen hundred dollars worth of damage; but that is another story. Trust me on this, Son; no Mother of a heterosexual, homosexual or even bi-transgender wants to hear that word! I know in your obstinate way, you think you can justify saying it but I ask you... Have you ever had a duck attack your car?
If at any time, I can help you with substitute words please give me a call. I know in my heart, that my son the Motivational Speaker, Actor, and Writer can find another one.
Remember this is just a little advice from your #1 fan. I love you. And remember not to leave dirty dishes in the sink at night. It attracts bugs.
Love to Preppy and Nelson.

Mama

I loved the wording on “duck ran into my car”, instead of the other way around. Mama’s version of events was that a duck the approximate size of a German Shepherd appeared out of the blue, maliciously dive-bombed the hood of her car, and sacrificed his own life just to piss her off. When I was a kid, a horse snacked on my mother’s Maxima, leaving gaping holes she struggled to explain to our mechanic. She’s got odd luck with animals and cars.
But I’m digressing.
You remember when you started saying fuck? It was so liberating! The standard-bearer for all dirty words, the one with absolutely no chance of appearing on broadcast television. A word that would scandalize goody two-shoes classmates. A word that, when used properly, can draw shocked stares and stop all conversation. I remember being thirteen years old, when Will Albee slammed me into the lockers for, I don’t know, looking in his direction or breathing, calling him a “Redneck Fuckface” under my breath and feeling quite pleased with myself. The forbidden word was an instant relief. (Will’s in prison now, by the way. How awesome is that?) We place “having sex” with someone and “fucking” someone in separate categories. The former implies that you engaged in intercourse and everyone had a nice time. The latter conjures up images of screaming orgasms, broken furniture, and complaining neighbors. It’s not just a dirty word.

It’s a filthy, raunchy, glorious word.
But now I use it a dozen times a day to describe everything from deadlines to traffic. I think over time, I became so enamored with the power of the word that I’ve subjected it to severe overuse. Nobody raises an eyebrow when I say it now, and I don’t have any words left in the vernacular that have the same level of impact. That’s kind of a shame.
As much as I hate to concede Mama has a point, I’ve decided to try and honor her request… in part. I’m not eradicating it entirely, but I am going to make an effort to return “Fuck” to its former place of rightful glory. It’s the big gun I’ll keep tucked away for just the right moment. That way, when I choose to fire it off as I yell at the people from the bank, or start unbuttoning Preppy’s pants, there will be no question I mean business.
Also, of course, if I happen to cross paths with a suicidal giant duck.