!@#$

I once saw an outtake from Jaws where all of the actors in a particular scene showed up with a cigarette between their lips in order to make fun of Roy Scheider for smoking through practically every scene that didn’t involve being underwater. (And, on an aside, how many people remember when actors in movies smoked for some reason other than to show that they were morally bankrupt? Of course, in those days everyone smoked—I remember my pediatrician smoking while giving me a physical. Hey, I’m not saying that it was better back then—just different.) Anyway, back to Jaws: this “smoke attack” was, I believe, an effort to get Roy to tone down his obsessive smoking. Just a bit. To tell you the truth, I’m not sure if it worked or not, but still: I certainly remembered it a few years ago when my daughter, Clementine, first discovered the joys of swearing.

It’s not that I have anything against swearing—I appreciate a thoughtful, uniquely offensive collection of epithets as much as the next sailor—but when it came to Clementine and swearing she was, unfortunately, a one-trick (or rather one-word) pony. And what was worse was that she wasn’t even using that one word correctly. I mean, I know that this magnificent word is probably the most versatile swear world in all the wide world of swearing, but even so it isn’t that flexible. Still, the fact that it was clearly her “go to” swear word made it that much easier for us when we finally had enough of it and decided it was time to “out Scheider” her.

“What kind of !@#$ cereal do you !@#$ want for your !@#$ breakfast?” I asked her one morning when she came into the kitchen. “!@#$ or !@#$?”

She blinked at me sleepily. “What?”

“Are you !@# deaf? Your !@#$ mother just asked you what you what you !@#$ wanted for your !@# breakfast. !@#$,” her father said.

That woke her up. “I don’t !@#$ know. I just !@#$ got up. Give me a minute. !@#$.”

I sighed. Well at least it was a start. And, in fact, the intervention eventually did work. Eventually. Although it took more “Scheidering” on our parts than I was actually comfortable delivering, and that’s saying something. But, yeah, by continually outdoing her on the swearing front we took away the shock value of it, which, if I remember correctly, was half the fun of swearing as a teenager. And now that she is seventeen I am happy to report that she swears almost like a normal person—well, normal for my house, anyway. Of course, that means that, just like clockwork, her little brother has taken up the swearing mantle instead.

When it comes to dealing with a younger sibling, some things are definitely easier. On one hand the younger sibling probably already has a good idea of the tactics that do not work. (For example, I learned from my older sister that holding the thermometer against a light bulb and then trying to claim a 107 degree fever was not the way to get to stay home from school.) On the other hand, however, they also learn what does work. And I’m afraid that, in Clyde’s case, he saw exactly how close we were to giving up on the whole “out swearing” tactic. In fact, I think he knows that, in this instance at least, he has a clear shot at winning.

It doesn’t help that—probably due to way too much online gaming—he has a slightly more extensive swearing vocabulary than Clementine did. Still, in the end it always seems to come back to that one word. Which means that, with a little perseverance, we still have a chance to win.

Thank !@#$.