Clean-language learnings from the festive season

As my young daughter and I settle in for a few weeks of focused, festive-season romcom watching, the age-rating of movies becomes a critical measure in my entertainment consumption.

My daughter and I surf the wholesome space where FAM and PG movies reside, with occasional brave forays into the 13 space. This is where things get interesting. The subject matter is of tangential concern, but for my child, swearing is a dealbreaker.

This is odd, because I personally have had a rather loose relationship with profanity. As a writer, the most notorious works in my oeuvre have been “10 Reasons Cape Town Can Fuck Off” and “FHM Calls Bullshit!”. Indeed, some of my friendships have been based almost entirely on a brand of light-hearted profanity and joyful depravity.

Parenthood changes this. Particularly when you’re blessed with a profanity hardliner. My daughter has taken the swear-jar concept to the final frontier, to where she applies it not just to her own household, but to other, more distant family members, and even their friends, who find themselves at something of a loss to find fines tearfully imposed on them for a stray s-bomb.

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I have tried to talk my daughter down from the ledge of profanity fundamentalism, particularly in an era where hip-hop is so ubiquitous and n-, s- and f-words are likely to impinge on one’s consciousness at any given time.

I have tried to explain that swearing has its place; that it’s good not to swear too much, but sometimes it is justified.

If you swear too often, I tell her, then when you do eventually encounter an enormous injustice that is worth swearing about, your swearwords will lose their impact.

“Like what?” comes the immediate rejoinder from my daughter. “When are you allowed to swear?”

After a few seconds’ reflection, I came to realise that the people who had faced down some of history’s greatest injustices were not known for their swearing. Nelson Mandela, Martin Luther King Jr… these people are not famous users of cuss words.

My next fallback was that sometimes grown-ups swear with their friends, just to show they are comfortable with each other, and having fun.

“I’m comfortable with my friends, and I don’t swear,” was my child’s confounding rejoinder.

Looking back at my history of swearing, I decided that I had initially started doing it as a teen, in order to approximate the language of adults when they were together. I used swearwords to pretend I was a grown-up.

Later, I believe I used profanity to shock the older generation. None of these are usages to be proud of. Nor are they occasions where swearing is crucial, or indispensable.

And so, my education by my child continues. Profanity – or the lack of it – will continue to define my holiday viewing. And it’s teaching me things. In the same way that swearing limits the number of movies you can watch with a young girl over December, profanity can limit your circle of friends. As a writer, it can limit your audience.

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There is a certain macho posturing that comes with colourful language – the idea of being edgy, ungoverned by the strictures of society. It excludes others, though. and fresh and progressive ideas are the real ammunition for revolutionising society. They deserve to be as accessible as possible.

And thus, I attempt to take off my swearing cap. To clean out my mouth with soap, as it were. Let me see if I can expand my circle of friends through language, instead of making it more exclusive. Through ideas, through kindness and – as my child recommends – through the use of kind, inclusive language.

There will still be the odd slip-up, but that’s why we invented swear jars!

Hagen Engler. Picture: Supplied

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