Wednesday, August 5, 2015

The Day I Learned About The F-Word

I attended parochial school for my entire compulsory schooling, except for a 9 week stint in a public high school my sophomore year because we had trouble getting tuition together that fall.  Being in a small church-school kept me sheltered for a long time.  Just to give you a frame of reference, the worst word I knew in Kindergarten was damnation.  Not damn.  Damnation.  As in my mom exclaiming "What in damnation is going on in here?!"  By contrast, I once asked a Hispanic boy in a kindergarten class I was subbing for what 'puto' meant.  He replied, "It means, like, bitch-motherfucker-ass-" Okay, I get it.  I think he genuinely felt sorry me that I didn't know and he had to explain it to me.

So in 3rd grade I didn't know much cursing beyond damn or hell.  I'd heard about this 'F' word but didn't exactly know what it was.  One day at school, my friend Sam and I took a restroom break.

While Sam used the urinal and I used the stall (because I still pulled my pants all the way down to pee) I noticed that someone had scratched this into the wall: "Suck it - Fuck it."  I called Sam over and he clasped his hand over his mouth and uttered a long "Ooo!"  This let me know it was pretty bad.  "We have to tell Mr. Foster!" Sam said.  Of course we had to.  I was what my peers referred to as a tattle-tale.  It was my responsibility to inform the teacher of any and all infractions so justice could be served.  I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it.  Tattling was the best.  A sure-fire way to boost my own fledgling self-esteem by pointing out the whispered cussing, hidden middle fingers and surreptitious cheating that went on in my classroom.  Bad words on the restroom wall?  We sure as shit were gonna go tell.  We bolted from the restroom to tell Mr. Foster.

Mr. Foster was the only male teacher at school.  He usually wore sweatpants and buttoned-up short sleeve shirts.  He was a bald, paunchy man with an unkempt mustache and only later on in my life when I thought about it did it register as a pretty grim existence.  

Sam and I burst into the classroom, Sam barely able to talk from the excitement and running up the stairs (he was a little doughy).  "Mr. Foster," Sam said, "someone wrote something really bad on the wall in the boys restroom!"  This was my moment.  My opportunity to call out the guilty party.  "Yeah," I started.  "It says 'Suck it' and 'Fuck it.'"  I looked accusingly across the room.  As sure as someone had written it on the wall, their guilt would certainly be written on their young faces. 

Someone blurted out, "I did it!"  "You did?" Mr. Foster replied.  "Then you shall go the principal's office and confess your crimes there!  Meanwhile, we will have an extra 30 minutes of recess time in Franz's honor for bringing this to our attention and calling out the guilty party!  Franz is truly a mench!"  

This is what I thought would happen, or something close to it.  Instead, after declaring what was written on the bathroom wall, the entire class gasped.  Mr. Foster found it hard to stifle his amusement, saying "Franz, you can't say that."  What?!  You mean I'm in trouble for finding it and having the courage to tell you?  We're on the same side, Mr. Foster!  Don't just sit there with your hands in your sweat jacket pockets, jingling your keys, do something!  "Okay, I'll let the principal know, thank you," he said.  I went to my seat, confused.  Someone had written this profanity in the bathroom of all places and was going to get a way with it.  Meanwhile, I'm the one causing snickers and giggles because I wanted Mr. Foster to know about this act of vandalism?  I learned a lesson that day, all right.  Not only does the F in F-word stand for fuck, but adults don't really care about it.  And yet if I were to go into Toys'R Us and say something like, "Aw man, the new Optimus Prime is $25.  Fuck it," I'd be the one in trouble.

Respawn

There's not enough unsolicited commentary on the internet and I feel mine is REALLY important so you should read it.  Politics.  Humor.  Political Humor. I'm committed to bringing back blogging like it's 2004 all over again.  Join me, friends.