Wash my mouth out with soap...

Once upon a time, in a land far away, on the internet, I directed the following 'flame' at a long-forgotten opponent, in a long-forgotten argument having something to do with insects:

So tell us, o entymylogically(sp?) wise one, what the fuck does this have to do with the original post? Since you're obviously some kind of mutated cockroach, you've got nothing to win or lose, although it appears as if you've lost your antenae for common sense. Go back to the garbage heap you worhtless shit gulping less than a maggot brained wart on a shit infested ant's ass. While you're at it- fuck off.

I don't have much to say for myself, except that in those days the internet was, for me, one long flame war. In the years since writing the above, aside from learning how to spell 'entomologically', I've learned to, shall we say, control my tongue (if not my temper) a bit more. Cursing and swearing and snide comments, after all, tend to lose their appeal when the potential target (in my case Japanese-speaking people) is not likely to understand what you're talking about. Of course, as any of my ex-pat drinking buddies could tell you, I can still peel the paint off buildings with just a few choice words when the mood hits. Generally speaking, though, I'm a much mellower guy than the lout that wrote the words above, which leads me to something that happened this morning...

Like most English-speaking guys (at least the ones I know and associate with!), it's fairly common for me to use the words 'fuck' and 'shit' as exclamatory statements: "oh, for fuck sake!", "fuck it!", "fuck, yeah!", "ahh, shit!", and "holy shit!" being but a few examples. This morning, I was making coffee in the kitchen. I thought I was alone. One of the things I hate about Japan is that it sometimes seems as though all of the interior designers here are thinking about dwarves or people who never have to stand up living in their creations... Anyway, I'm in the kitchen making coffee and I think I'm alone, when suddenly I give my head its daily bash, this time into the corner of an overhead cupboard. Fuck, did it hurt! "Fuuck!!", I yelled. And then my daughter walked around the corner and said, "nande 'fuck', Daddy?" As much as my head hurt, I felt a bit ashamed.

Nande means 'why', so my daughter was asking me why I said 'fuck'. She didn't say, "'fuck' nan desu ka?" ("what is 'fuck'?" or "what does 'fuck' mean?"). I'm fairly certain that my 3-year old doesn't know the meaning of 'fuck'. But by asking me why I said 'fuck' she showed a pretty good understanding of one of the word's functions in English. She heard me say 'fuck'. She saw me holding my head in pain. If she could say it in English, she would have said "what happened?". Barring that, she wondered what made me say 'fuck'. Clearly she's heard me say it before...

I'm a rotten father, doomed to spending the rest of his days in fear. Fear that one day, sooner or later, my little girl will, in the presence of her mother--my wife, fall down, or bump her head, or drop her ice cream, and at that fateful moment she'll scream the dreaded word. And I'll be fucked...