Fuck That Shitty Coloring Book

On kids and swearing.

I took my kids to a birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese’s last year.

That should be the end of the story, because you should just assume we all died from every disease known to man after touching just one game in there, but we made it.

When it came time to sing to whoever the kid was (I forget) (probably a “Traverrton” or a “Mackenzeel”), out came Sir Charles Cheddar in all of his terrifying glory, dancing and waving to the kids.

My son looked up from his pizza at the monstrous rat.

“What the hell is that?” he asked.

He was five.

I did the mandatory laugh suppression and told him very nicely not to say that.

“Why not?”

“We’ll talk about it later, buddy. We have pizza to worry about right now.”

When we got in the car, I told him that “hell” is just one of those words people don’t want you to say until you’re older. It’s just a word, I know, but people would treat him differently if he said it while he was so young. In the case of adults, those changes would be for the worse.

And I thought about it. About how there is this line past which we are allowed to finally swear. And I thought about how horrible some of us would have it if that line was somewhere around 40 years old.

Imagine if everyone older than 40 could just take your iPhone away from you if you said “shit” until you were also 40. Or they could make you drink hand sanitizer for calling your landlord a bitch.

Then imagine that every office had a mandatory 41-year-old within hearing distance of each sub-40 employee.

Think of all the frustration that would build up if you couldn’t “oh fucking hell” a paper jam, or “this is such bullshit” a news story.

Then imagine your job and your life are about fifty times as fucking hell bullshitty as they are now. Because you can’t go anywhere unless a 40-plus takes you. And you have to ask them to open your food. And they are making you hold hands with your coworkers on the way to AND FROM the bathroom.

Fuck that shit, right?

Wrong. You mean “golly heavens.” And now you have an ulcer.

Maybe we should just let the kids call in an f-bomb airstrike every now and then. Like a kind of purge. Fuck that shitty coloring book. To hell with green beans. Eat shit, elementary academia. You know; like a pressure release.

I’m sure we would see a sharp drop in toddler crime, even if it comes at the cost of the future of spoken language.

Think of what this could do about the toddler gangs problem.

I am available to babysit Wednesday and Thursday evenings.

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