Why I Don't Cuss

      

             I never heard cuss words spoken in our house when I was growing up. My mother would have washed my mouth out with hand soap, if I had ever used bad words. I grew up in a very devout Catholic household. I went to Catholic school for 11 years, skipping only the 2^nd grade.  I was an altar-boy from the 4^th grade through high school. I spend 4 years in a seminary because I wanted to become a Catholic priest. My father was a Catholic priest. He became one after my mother died.

          Bad words were not allowed in our house, as least not during the time that I lived there. After I moved out, my younger siblings used bad words that I would never have uttered in our house. When I entered the Navy and went to Viet Nam, I was surrounded by shipmates that used foul language as a normal way of speaking. “Sailor speak” is a  subculture characteristic that fits the sailor stereotype. As such, colorful language doesn't offend me. Not all sailors cuss, of course. But no one is shocked when he or she hears a sailor use colorful language.
          I remember trying to use the "F" word over the phone to a friend who uses that word with joyful regularity. I couldn't do it. I started to laugh and I just couldn't say it. I was already in my 40s.
          It is hard for me to write the way sailors speak. I don't do it well, because my tongue isn't used to forming those words. It feels forced and unnatural. I often call on my little sister. She is 15 years younger. She is my cussing consultant. I have to work hard to put myself into my characters when I read aloud in public. And then, when I get home, I wash my mouth out with hand soap.
          That last sentence was a complete fabrication. But it made me feel better to write it.