The Quiet Promotion of Naughty Words

Every house develops its own language eventually.

If I’m being honest, there are a fair number of colorful words flying around our house.

Not the serious ones. My boys are still seven, five, and one, and there are a few linguistic heavyweights that are firmly reserved for adulthood.

But we do allow a couple milder expressions.

H-E double hockey sticks.

Shaiza.

They’re allowed to say them.

There isn’t even really a limit on how often.

The real lesson isn’t about the words themselves.

It’s about where they belong.

At home? Usually fine.

Within earshot of Mom or Dad? Acceptable.

Around a trusted friend who thinks it’s hilarious? Generally permitted.

But not in front of teachers.

Not in front of grandparents.

Not at school.

And certainly never directed at another person.

Because in our house the rule about language is fairly simple:

You may play with words.

You may not use them to hurt someone.

Now, to be clear, my husband and I run the full gamut of grown-up language when the situation calls for it — which, if we’re being honest, is most days.

But the boys understand those are adult words.

The linguistic equivalent of the top shelf.

Children understand this arrangement much better than people give them credit for.

Once they realize they’re trusted with the responsibility, the thrill becomes less about rebellion and more about performance.

A dramatic “Oh H-E double hockey sticks!” when a Lego tower collapses.

A whispered “Shaiza…” when a board game takes a turn for the worse.

Or the time one brother confidently announced he would “keep an eye on the baby,” only to look up moments later and shout —

“HOLY SHAIZA!”

—as he realized the baby had quietly made it almost all the way to the top of the stairs.

Like any household, we’ve also developed a few sayings that only make sense inside these walls.

One of them is the old standby:

“Bend over and I’ll show ya.”

It’s not actually a threat of anything in particular. It’s simply the family shorthand for watch it, buddy when someone is getting a little too bold with their commentary.

The funny thing about allowing these smaller words a place to exist is that they lose most of their power.

They stop being forbidden treasure.

They become… words.

Which is probably for the best.

Because pretending children won’t eventually hear colorful language has never worked in the history of childhood.

So instead we’re teaching something a little more useful.

That words, like most things in life, depend entirely on the room you’re standing in.

And learning to read the room…

is the closest thing to a real promotion you’re going to get around here.

Besides, around our house we’ve always believed that if a colorful word must be used…

it might as well be used poetically.