Mom, You Can’t Say That!
Lessons from the family word police
Yesterday, I played soccer with my nine-year-old granddaughter, Izzy, as she was getting ready for the season. I used to let her win when we played, but not anymore—she has to earn it now. The score was 2–2; we were both tired but determined.
Izzy’s game had remarkably improved — her footwork was sharp, and her focus intense. The game was close, and I was determined to score. As I made a break for her goal, I tripped over the ball, stumbling awkwardly.
I laughed, “I’m such a spaz!”
Izzy stopped in her tracks and looked at me, her little brow furrowed in concern. “Grandma, you can’t say that!”
“Say what?” I asked, surprised.
“‘Spaz,’” she replied, crossing her arms like her mom, Emily. “Mom says we shouldn’t use that word. It’s not nice.”
I paused, catching my breath and feeling a mix of embarrassment and curiosity. “Oh, really? Why not?”
Izzy tilted her head, thinking for a moment, then replied with the confidence only a nine-year-old could muster. “Mom says it makes fun of people who have trouble moving like they can’t control it. It’s like saying they’re weird, and that’s not fair.”
