We had a conversation with our kindergartner last night about language. It’s probably not what you think, because we were giving him permission to use certain words or to accept that others chose those words. He can be a little cautious with his language, and he gets confused why others are not. It’s a tricky thing, language. He has his own ideas, anyway. Last night, for instance, at the end of our talk:
ME: So, it’s pretty rude to call someone stupid but it’s not that bad if you need to say something is stupid when you’re frustrated blah, blah, blah…
HIM: I know THE WORST THING SOMEONE CAN SAY.
HIM: Yes, I figured it out. I’ve been listening.
(Oh, shit. He’s been listening? I’ve muttered some creatively graphic doozies at home from time to time. His buddy M.’s mom warned me M. might have taught him the f-bomb. I prepared my poker face to hear a big one.)
ME: Alright, let’s hear it.
(He’s not worried about saying it, he just likes dramatic suspense.)
HIM: The Godness of Ass.
ME: Oh, um, ok.
I was on my way out, and by the time I got to the car I was howling.
The Godness of Ass! I have no idea where he got that from. I’m not sure what it’s supposed to mean, but I guess he can say it if he finds a warranted situation. I am not “a concerned parent” like, say, this guy:
A school district is reviewing the National Book Award winner, Sherman Alexie’s The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-time Indian because a single parent complained about a reference to masturbation. The parent concluded that the book was “trash” not fit to be read by a 50-year-old.
Oh, for the Godness of Ass!
Are you still looking for a present for me? Maybe you know I like to cook, and you want to get a tool that can squish herbs, crush garlic, AND resemble a potato. You could get me this $80 rock, but then I might hit you with it.
You’d better just get me some deer, pig, and giraffe silhouettes that I can pretend are escaping from my books.