SUMBing the F-Bomb

I was in a huge hurry this morning as I often am these days. At one point I was sitting at my desk, trying to get my stuff together for Humanities 1100 and I realized I was swearing under my breath (SUMB) about every third word. It seems I’ve developed, over the last few years, a SUMB habit. I’m not sure where it started or why but I’m definitely cussing like a patron at the ballet.

I have a complicated relationship with swearing it seems. I remember at eight, after listening to that great Jim Croce song “Bad, Bad, Leroy Brown, baddest man in the whole damn town,” asking my mother if I could swear. I mean how pathetic: asking one’s mother permission to swear? Later as a teenager, my Mormon friends (I was a self-proclaimed atheist at the time) would let it rip. It embarrasses me now to think I was the numbskull teenager in line ahead of some poor mom with her 7 year-old daughter at Hardees saying, “Goddam it you motherfucker give me my wallet back or I will fuck you up.”

Many times I’ve reformed my swearing habits—once, at least in her presence, for my Mormon girlfriend (I will never forget the look she gave me driving to Logan during my Christmas break from Methodist College in North Carolina after I used Jesus Christ in some slang fashion); another for my two-year LDS mission; and another while at BYU which waned when around my Utah State friends. Once I settled down into post zoobie-land life (post BYU), I was caught off guard by the language people in the real world used. Of course getting a job at an alternative high school, alternative in that hemp was THE issue for every paper and large black electronic leg bracelets were marks of courage, my transition was rather extreme. The “foul” language seemed so cruel to me coming from these students’ mouths. I don’t know that the context of their language was that much different from the language of some of the faculty but the presence of the language in class further corroded my already tenuous hold on any semblance of authority or control. And it could be very mean and demeaning—the “you fuckin’ c*nt” variety of swearing.

But even the language of the inactive LDS/ atheist faculty faction (I had been adopted by exception since I was an active LDS liberal), made me cringe. For several months a few faculty members from this group would slip out an F-bomb every time they saw me. It became a big joke because they knew the F-word made me grimace. Often in normal polite conversation big Paul would say something like: “I don’t think this fucking new rule about our fuckin’ students is going be able to prevent them from being fuckers.” That afternoon big Paul would then ironically give his long lecture to the student volleyball team about not using the c-word as his wife had helped him understand the nastiness of this particular word. He relished each moment of these discussions with the students; it was a bit perverse. They had a lot of fun with me and I didn’t mind that much—certainly better than the f-bombs coming from my students. During this time another colleague, Liz, made the first argument I’d heard (I know I’m very sheltered) for the versatility of the F-word: it’s a verb, it’s a noun, etc., etc.

Now I’ve grown up and gone to college—very few if any F-bombs in my classes these days and I have to say I like it that way; at least I don’t miss the threatening or vicious F-bombs. But now it seems I’m dropping little SUMB F-bombs all over the place. I’d hate to do a count on a day like today--certainly moving towards three digits. It’s dangerous you know: a sin is first a thought and then acted on. And in this way the versatility of the F-word provides for many grievous actions: using the Lord’s name in vein, bashing in someone’s face, coveting, flipping someone off, adultery, and not loving your enemy. Maybe I can ask my Mormon bishop permission to SUMB: “I know it’s not quite Christ-like but it’s my way of preserving my sanity.” He’ll never buy it.