The first time I tried to stop cursing, I was in eighth grade – well, just going into it – and I said “damn” in front of my youth minister. She responded well – not calling me out on it and relating a similar story of how she once said that word, too. I figured I should quit because it “wasn’t Christian.” Wholesome words and all that.
The second time I tried to quit (well, that I can remember) was in college. All of my roommates and friends laced expletives through most every sentence, and motherf-er was (maybe is) my favorite choice for multiple parts of a sentence. But my last year of school brought the Baptist Campus Ministry into my life, and I decided I “should” try to give it up. I woke up one Saturday morning and said God, I’m going to stop cursing. I got in my car, picked up pictures from Walgreens, and on the way home was cut off in an intersection. Unpleasantries came out before I even had a chance to hit the breaks. Oops.
I've tried to hide it, change, it, accept it, fight it. Now, I just try to be aware of it. I don’t swear at church, in front of children or old folks, and I try to keep it to “light” cussing - a few of these, some of that, an "oh " here and there. But sometimes I get on a roll and then I probably say the “f” word more times than the Boondock Saints (certainly illustrating the diversity of the word). There is just something sweet and satisfying in the way it rolls off your tongue, something cathartic about its expression of your emotion in that very second.
I’m not sure if it’s wrong or right, but oh well. F- it.
(haha, just kidding)
