In my first five years we had never heard anything like bad language at home.My mother never swore at all back then,and with my father,it might have been a very rare hell,or damn.In fact,while both of my parents described Hell(not that they necessarily described it correctly),we were not even allowed to use the word.So we didn't,and not doing so left a good many of my questions unanswered.In fact,so resistant were both my parents to using bad language,that it was not really possible for them to explain what taking The Lord"s Name in vain meant.So,life at our new babysitters turned out to be quite a shock.
"Little bastard",the girl said.A word I'd never heard before.And I wasn't certain it was directed at us,or at her little brother.Her mother let it pass though.And even though it was a word to which I was unaccustomed,I knew it was not good.By her tone I knew it was a word I would not want to be caught saying at home.I knew she was expressing anger.
It turned out that "Little bastard" was not nearly the only word I would hear from this girl and her older brother.I was in for quite an expansion of my vocabulary in a very short time,even if they were words I'd never say,or would seldom ,if ever be said at home.It wasn't long before I'd heard the other "B word" and the "F Bomb" as well.And the taking of The Lord's Name in vain was a common practice and took quite a few inventive forms.In all,the language being used conveyed the idea of a home that was much different than our own.Here,there was anger and rebellion.
Not only did this girl swear,and swear a lot,but so did her older brother,the oldest of the four siblings.In all though,he was not as foul mouthed as his sister.But he would at times be really closed up and silent,and you knew that you didn't want to say anything at all to him then.The two youngest children were not given to swearing,in fact,the youngest girl seemed shy and quiet most of the time.With the toddler,I think it was just a matter of not knowing any swear words.
The older kids seemed to come by their mouth honestly,if listening to their parents was any indication.Our new babysitter was not the least reluctant to engage either of her older children in argument,and when she did,the air could turn blue rather quickly.She would spend a lot of the time we were there on the phone too,and an endless stream of hell and damn issued from her.Her husband came home only rarely as he was usually off somewhere delivering aviation gas to some other city in Atlantic Canada.But when he did come home,he would park an oil slicked,dark green truck out front of the house and track greasy shoes right into the house,at which point our babysitter would start in on him about the dirt,and about the filthy truck parked outside,which she said caused all of us kids to be soiled,even though we never touched his truck.He would come in at odd hours too,and when he did he would demand to be fed.His wife would always protest,saying she didn't run a restaurant.He would always return with something like"If my wife won't feed me when I get home,I'll just run down to the tavern and get my dinner". Those conversations were never very comfortable and were liberally salted with words that we were never to say,and that I'm certain my parents wished we would never hear.But hear them we did.
I had no idea what a tavern was.But the very idea of it,once mentioned set our babysitter off to being in a foul mood,that usually lasted the rest of the day.Tavern was a new word to me,and when I asked my mother what it was,she explained that it was a place some people went to take their meals.But why would a person eat at a tavern when there seemed to be enough food at home?And why did the mere mention of a tavern bring about this woman's anger.I came to know,when I heard these conversations that it was a time to tread lightly,to find a place alone and not bother anyone,least of all any of the adults or older children.
"Little bastard",the girl said.A word I'd never heard before.And I wasn't certain it was directed at us,or at her little brother.Her mother let it pass though.And even though it was a word to which I was unaccustomed,I knew it was not good.By her tone I knew it was a word I would not want to be caught saying at home.I knew she was expressing anger.
It turned out that "Little bastard" was not nearly the only word I would hear from this girl and her older brother.I was in for quite an expansion of my vocabulary in a very short time,even if they were words I'd never say,or would seldom ,if ever be said at home.It wasn't long before I'd heard the other "B word" and the "F Bomb" as well.And the taking of The Lord's Name in vain was a common practice and took quite a few inventive forms.In all,the language being used conveyed the idea of a home that was much different than our own.Here,there was anger and rebellion.
Not only did this girl swear,and swear a lot,but so did her older brother,the oldest of the four siblings.In all though,he was not as foul mouthed as his sister.But he would at times be really closed up and silent,and you knew that you didn't want to say anything at all to him then.The two youngest children were not given to swearing,in fact,the youngest girl seemed shy and quiet most of the time.With the toddler,I think it was just a matter of not knowing any swear words.
The older kids seemed to come by their mouth honestly,if listening to their parents was any indication.Our new babysitter was not the least reluctant to engage either of her older children in argument,and when she did,the air could turn blue rather quickly.She would spend a lot of the time we were there on the phone too,and an endless stream of hell and damn issued from her.Her husband came home only rarely as he was usually off somewhere delivering aviation gas to some other city in Atlantic Canada.But when he did come home,he would park an oil slicked,dark green truck out front of the house and track greasy shoes right into the house,at which point our babysitter would start in on him about the dirt,and about the filthy truck parked outside,which she said caused all of us kids to be soiled,even though we never touched his truck.He would come in at odd hours too,and when he did he would demand to be fed.His wife would always protest,saying she didn't run a restaurant.He would always return with something like"If my wife won't feed me when I get home,I'll just run down to the tavern and get my dinner". Those conversations were never very comfortable and were liberally salted with words that we were never to say,and that I'm certain my parents wished we would never hear.But hear them we did.
I had no idea what a tavern was.But the very idea of it,once mentioned set our babysitter off to being in a foul mood,that usually lasted the rest of the day.Tavern was a new word to me,and when I asked my mother what it was,she explained that it was a place some people went to take their meals.But why would a person eat at a tavern when there seemed to be enough food at home?And why did the mere mention of a tavern bring about this woman's anger.I came to know,when I heard these conversations that it was a time to tread lightly,to find a place alone and not bother anyone,least of all any of the adults or older children.
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