My 3 Year Old Drops The F Bomb
The Sunday morning worship service had just ended and we were talking to our minister outside the sanctuary because we’re Methodists and that’s the law. As we discussed some of the finer points of his sermon, I felt several sharp tugs on my pants leg. It was my 5 year old son Matt. Looking down, I saw a little face that was a mix of terror and urgency. He looked like he had just seen Pennywise the clown.
“Dad, Dad, Dad!”, he said loudly. “ I have to talk to you right now! ”
I ignored his youthful disregard of manners and in a kind fatherly voice asked him, “What is it son?” By now he had all of our attention.
Without the use of a filter that wouldn’t develop until years later, Matt blurted out, “My brother Jeff’s done it now. He’s in the nursery saying the F word.”
Time froze. My eyes widened as I exchanged glances of disbelief with my wife Carol and our minister. The F word? My gaze turned into one of anger as I zeroed in on my wife. “You are responsible for this, Miss Stay at Home Mom!”, I thought. Of course, I was getting the same look back from her. It was undoubtedly the same kind of hateful stares that Doc Holiday and Wyatt Earp gave the Clanton boys just before the Gunfight at the OK Corral.
I snapped out of my homicidal thoughts and tried to get control of the situation, saying, “Uh, OK son. Why don’t we go back there and see what’s going on?“
I stood up, took Matt’s hand, and headed down the short hallway to the nursery. It seemed like the Green Mile to me. All I could think about was how my 3 year old was apparently well on his way to becoming a rapper. Where did he hear such a word? When we got to the door I peeked in. There was Jeff playing and romping with several other kids. Things looked innocent enough.
I decided it would be prudent to get a final confirmation before I went in to wash out his mouth with a quart of Listerine. So I squatted down and said quietly, “Matt, tell me the word that Jeff said. It’s OK. Just whisper it to me. You won’t get in any trouble, I promise.”
For a few seconds little Matt pondered this unusual offer of immunity from parental prosecution. Then he leaned over and whispered in my ear slowly and seriously, “He said fart.”
Fart. He said fart! I felt my knees buckle as I nearly fainted from sheer relief. The last time I exhaled like that was when I took a breathing test in my pulmonary doctor’s office. It was so simple. All three of the adults viewed this incident from their perspective, and went to the worst possible outcome. Not one of us not took into consideration the age of the offender. It seems that the word “fart” is the F bomb to those 5 years and under.
Armed with this knowledge, I sprang up and quickly made my way back to the narthex. I had to set the record straight with our pastor. He had to know ASAP that my 3 year old son didn’t have to be tested for Tourette’s syndrome.
I turned the corner and saw my wife fidgeting nervously beside our minister, who had begun engaging other members of the congregation. As I approached them, I began smiling and shaking my head, causing both of them to look at me uncertainly. I got within earshot and said quietly, “Fart. The F word was fart.”
Carol had a similar reaction to mine, closing her eyes and exhaling for about 5 minutes in relief. But, our pastor almost hyperventilated from laughing so hard. His whole body shook for several minutes. Looking back, I think that’s because he had 3 girls that were about the same age as our 3 boys. So he was probably relating to a similar experience.
At least that’s the way I see it from my perspective.
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#preschoolprofanity
#toddlersswearing
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