Wednesday, 16 July 2014

The 'f' word.

And there it was. Hanging in the air like my child. The 'f' word.

Esme had been gleefully upturned on the igloo when I had told her it was time to leave the park. Her quizzical look and 'oh fuck' response had completely taken me aback.

What made matters worse of course, was that I thought I'd heard her incorrectly, quickly asking, 'What did you say?' just as another mother and her beautifully turned out tot walked past... right in time to hear my little girl say again - this time with gusto... 'Oh fuck.'

I didn't have to look her way to know the woman was outraged. I felt the intensity of her stare. Its glare like the adjacent early evening summer sun, blindingly low in the sky. What with this, the shame, and the embarrassment, I began to burn inside out. There was no time to apologise, for now with her toddler wrapped about her and seemingly with disdain and disgust, she increased her pace and left the park.

Of course, completely stunned, I had grabbed Esme DIS-Grace and fled to a nearby bench, scolding her as we went, saying... No! And what? And why? And if she ever used that word again... blah blah blah. And she had cried. Great bulbous tears. For she had no idea what it all was about, let alone what it meant. And she had no idea that my reaction would be so aggrieved. So sadly disappointed. And that truly bothered her. For even though Esme had happened to use it in the right context, with the right amount of expression, intonation and 'tude', I realised she hadn't a clue. But still, there it was. Complete with her perfect delivery, my little girl, had opened her mouth and used the 'f' word.


Later that day as I recalled the events to my husband, he told me that on the weekend when he and Esme were at the park, some teens had also been there apparently with nothing better to do than cuss and mess. Wish I'd been there too. If I catch them back in the small children's play area, I'll have to have words. Polite ones of course.