My mother loves to tell embarrassing stories to every girl I bring home. If I happen to take a female across the threshold of my parent's house they get to hear all sorts of tales regarding me and my antics as a youth. Some of them get more sensational as the years go by, but one sticks out in my mind today.
I was in the first grade at the local Catholic school. I was sitting at my desk doing my work when conversation ensued with my classmate Steve. For whatever reason he called me a 'shithead'. Yeah Steve was a jokester. Instead of telling on him I decided to counter, but understanding the rule that you can't actually speak a swear word I thought I could get away with the next best thing, writing it down.
I wrote the word 'asshole' in crayon on my Superman pencil box and showed it to Steve. He pauses in shock, but then displays a devious grin. He grabs the pencil box out of my hands and starts running up to the teacher screaming 'Erik's writing naughty words on his pencil box' in a nasally proud tone of voice. He reaches the front of her desk chanting that phrase as he was holding the item in view. As he was in mid sentence of another announcement to the teacher and the rest of North America about my obscene pencil box graffiti I tackled him from behind. The contents of my pencil box flew across the desk as Steve and I wrestled for control of it.
The teacher broke us up and examined my writing. I told her I thought it was okay to write it, just not say it. She didn't buy it although I swear I truly believed that. She sent me to the principle's office to see the nun.
Sister Barbara didn't fit the stereotype of a stern nun who whacked kids with rulers. She was a sweet lady with a real love for children and her Lord. Sister Barbara didn't put up with shenanigans though. She took a look at my pencil box and asked me questions about the language I used. I said I heard it from my parents, a claim my mother till this day denies (I stick to this claim). The good nun calls my folks at work and explains to them the situation and reminded them that I've heard them using such language like that 'all the time'.
I was sent back to class, but was counting the hours down till my ass would later be met by my father's belt. After my mom went off forever about how embarrassed she was over the idea that someone else knew she swore at home I took quite a licking for my profanity.
When I was a kid foul language was just used on pencil boxes and school desks, but now it's on my blog. I learned nothing I guess.
"I have terrible handwriting. I now say it's a learning disability... but a nun who was a very troubled woman hit me over the fingers with a ruler because my writing was so bad." - Andrew Greeley