My Kid's First Dirty Word

Do you remember the first time you knew you were saying a "bad" word?  I remember being in kindergarten, and I was riding in the back of the bus since I was one of the last stops on the line.  It seems like only the fifth graders knew that it was cool to sit back there.  Most of the other kids sat toward the front, which is practical since the walk is shorter and the seats are full size.

By the time I got on the bus, I was usually forced to choose between sitting in the back or sitting next to the kid that ate his boogers like candy and smelled like the intoxicating aroma of cat urine and cow manure, a classic combination that is only possible to acquire in certain parts of rural Maryland.  Needless to say, I chose the back of the bus.  Those fifth graders taught me some awful things, and I remember feeling "cool" for being able to sit with them.  I had no idea they were making fun of me at the time.  I never did get to pay it forward.  By the time I got to fifth grade, it was actually "cool" to sit in the back of the bus.  I ended up sitting behind the bus driver during my fourth and fifth grade years, listening to her curse under her breath whenever anyone (usually my little brother) misbehaved.  Good times.

My daughter hasn't learned her first dirty word yet.  At least not that she is consciously aware of, but she has accidentally said a dirty word thanks to her uncle.  Remember last week when I told you about my daughter getting muddy at her cousin's house?  Well, there was one story that I intentionally left out because it stands alone without being relevant to the mud story. This is the story of how Uncle C made my daughter say a dirty word.

As our kids played in the snow and mud, I stood nearby, talking to my sister and her husband (Uncle C).  We were catching up on recent family events, and discussing some future projects he wants to complete around the house.  All of a sudden, we see my nephew, C-man, push my daughter down from behind.  She was fine, as she landed in a soft pile of mud.  So, Uncle C did his job and corrected C-man for his crime.  He had to sit on the patio as a time-out.




Feeling sorry for her cousin, my daughter went over to sit next to him.  As I went to retrieve her so that she did not distract C-man from his punishment, Uncle C said to my little one, "You don't have to sit in time-out.  You didn't push anyone. You were the pushee."

"You're a pushee?" she replied inquisitively with her inability to pronounce the "sh" sound correctly being painfully obvious.  Needless to say, we could not contain our laughter.  Thanks, Uncle C!  You taught my kid the "p" word.  She has not repeated it (yet) so I guess I can forgive you.  No hard feelings.