Bad language

Well, I knew it was coming eventually. And I supposed this might be the year that it would happen, and happen it did.

Round the breakfast table, which is in itself a crossroads of chaos and cocoa puffs in the morning with Koby, nearly six, and Aaron, freshly two. Amidst all of the other things happening simultaneously--Aaron getting covered in things I didn't even realize I'd given him, Koby pontificating on the importance of following class rules and the consequences (a new word) of not doing so, and my coffee getting cold as I ran for the seventh paper towel... Had I packed Aaron's lunch? Taken my Paxil? Anyway...

Just as the routine was winding down and I felt peace creeping back into the dining room, like a ray of light after a tropical downpour, Koby said in a 'playground' kind of tone, "Do you know what a bad word is?"

Oh, I've heard this one a thousand times. Koby went through a phase when he was four where he starting realizing there were 'bad' words. He didn't abuse them, except in constantly asking us "Hey, do you know what a bad word is? [pause] "Stupid!" And then he'd look at us with a mixture of feigned shock at his own utterance, barely covering a mischievous grin.

Yes, it was always 'stupid' or 'hate' or some other word that we, in wielding our parental powers over the pre-schooler, had started to instill in him, just so he would know better. We are careful not to use foul language at home, and god knows his upscale former daycare in Brookline would have been more likely to teach him a word of Spanish, Italian, Russian, or Hebrew before he'd learn anything R-rated.

But now, now Koby was in kindergarten. Real kindergarten in a real public school in Boston. That's where these bad seeds sprout.

So when he asked me the question this morning, "Hey, do you know what a bad word is?" I thought it would be a slight upgrade from 'stupid'--'idiot', perhaps? Then Koby opened his mouth, looked straight into my eyes, and said, "Bitch."

And all I could think was, this is surreal. This is my little baby Koby! He still watches cartoons and sucks his fingers. And today he aged ten years right in front of my eyes. "Bitch." I couldn't believe it.

You know what comes next. "Where did you learn that?!" Because I know it couldn't have happened at home. Thank goodness Koby is still angelic enough to actually tell me, "Michael (a classmate) told me."

"Well," I said, "that's a bad word, and you shouldn't say that to anybody. If you call somebody that, it'll really hurt their feelings. It's super-bad." 'Super' was my most powerful emphasis word for Koby--I hoped it would do its job.

He nodded and said he understood. I told him if I heard him say it, there'd be consequences. Then I asked myself, exactly why was this so upsetting? Why should simple little words carry so much weight? I suppose it's because we believe they do, and so they do.

He's still my baby Koby, but the next time he asks me if I know what a bad word is, my answer will be, "Yes. I know ALL of them. Thank you." We'll just wait and see.