Watching Our Language

I have a potty mouth. Anybody that reads any of these blogs on this site can tell you that.

When I get fired up I drop f-bombs like a fleet of B-52 bombers. I cuss, extrapolating a stream of crude and vulgar usages that may have never been strung together before, when I am angry. I remind myself of my father when he gets frustrated with the plumbing or his golf game. Even my mother, who can often rival the best Irish sailor when it comes to vulgarity, will sometimes look upon me with a disappointed gaze.

But then again, that's me I guess. Going too far, over the edge, off the reservation.

I can "help it" of course. When I'm around children I check my language as best I can... although a few four-letter no-no's still slip here and there. When I'm in a business meeting I don't talk like I'm on a rugby pitch. When I'm in a bar I don't talk like I'm giving a speech to devout members of a religious party. So what does this say about me?

Am I coarse? Rough around the edges? Just a punk or a prick who doesn't watch his mouth?

Well, I'll admit that I'm a bit rough around the edges and I won't apologize for it, but I hope I am never viewed as a punk and know that some people think I'm a prick. What we say and what we do is who we are. It's that simple.

You can have all the knowledge in the world, all the intention in the world, all the ingenuity in the world but until you apply it with words or actions you hold nothing. It is in the application that we find the proof of our musings. Sometimes proof takes time. A long time. No matter how much we speak or act. Such is the riddle. It wasn't me who made the rules (and I'm not really sure who did) but that is the way of it. Ask Tommy Edison how long it took him to invent the light bulb and how many people thought he was crazy.

With each "step"- each voiced thought or applied action- we learn. So why the fuck would I sit on the sidelines and remain silent? Sorry... got a little upset and sent an f-bomb out the bomb bay doors.

There was a time when a person was their word. They broke their word and they broke the very spirit of who they are. I'll admit that what I say or do isn't the right thing for everybody and that many people might disagree. However. If we can accept that we all aren't the same then we can all find a way to work together.

We just have to stop standing on the sidelines. We just have to find a way how best to express our thoughts. We just have to watch our language.

Yes, I cuss... sometimes even at inopportune moments. Yes, I try... sometimes with painful consequences.  But I am never absolute. And the more dialogue I create, the more I understand that there is so much to understand. The more I make an effort, the more I realize I have to learn. It's such a lovely ride it would be a shame to sit there quietly and never let the bombs away- not necessarily to destroy, maybe just to lighten our load so we can cruise to new heights.

In the movie Jerry Maguire, Jerry- a sports agent- creates a mission statement (not a memo, a mission statement) in the middle of the night after being struck with the inspiration of simplicity and some bad pizza. His call to a better life may quite possibly fall on deaf ears and cost him much pain, even a career and family. The copy clerk, in one of the most overlooked lines in the movie, holds the mission statement out in front of Jerry and looks him dead in the eye. "That's how you become great, man," he tells Jerry softly, "You hang your balls out there."

There's the copy clerk, holding Jerry's very soul (a mission statement full of pages and pages of language!) and makes one of the most prolific points of the story (of all our stories) with a dash of vulgarity; keep on eye on what you say, don't be afraid to say what's on your mind and hang your balls out there.  (Metaphorically speaking of course.)

It's simple, in that complicated sort of way.

Comments

[Mom]

I want to know who the fuck taught you that a cocksucking potty mouth was okay. What sort of asshole sonufabitch would fuck you up like that?

I remember lovely meals talking about our day. Don't most people talk about body parts at dinner? Yeah, the lungs were just full of these pebbly looking tarballs. Let me describe a penile implant for you while you eat.

Vulgarity has its place.

Fuckin' A.
Love you always,

[Asalie]

Good words.