I swear a lot. My language is sprinkled with four letter words most of the time when I am alone. Of course, I moderate this in public settings - I am enough of a hypocrite to protect my reputation just a little bit! Driving through south Scotland this past autumn, I had occasion to vent my spleen quite freely, as we got lost a lot on day one of the drive.
You may wonder where this came from, or how I tolerate it, being "a man of the cloth"? Well, first of all, remember that I was a child, a youth and a man before I was a man of the cloth. And also remember that I was raised in a decidedly working class, blue collar community. Salty language was the language of my youth. Through most of my adult - professional - life, I kept this aspect of my inner self under wraps. Again, hypocrisy and discretion in the service of image, held sway.
But now I am "an old man," and amazingly, I feel closer to my roots than at any time of my life. I suppose I spent a lot of years attempting to escape my roots, or at least cover them over with the rich loam of middle class existence. But, increasingly, I am just a boy from the part of the city where no middle class people wanted their kids to go. It was deemed "too tough." Even today, there is a Facebook page entitled, "I'm from Transcona, and I ain't trash." The reputation and the low self-image hangs on, you see, "even unto the third and fourth generation," as the Bible says.
Colourful language, or foul language, if you prefer, is a sign of poor education, and the lack of an appropriate vocabulary to express oneself. But you can see - or read - that I have reasonable language skills. A good cover for a blue collar boy with an inferiority complex. Clearly, I don't HAVE to express myself that way. So why do it?
I have pondered that a lot recently, even as stomped around the house, swearing at the idiotic actions of our Federal government. My mind was drawn back to something I learned in University English class, way back in the 50's. The language of the Romans, Latin, introduced Latin names for basic, four letter, Anglo Saxon terms. A return the Anglo-Saxon language is a return to the most basic level of my language roots. "Excrement" becomes "s**t" ( I don't what's appropriate in blogs. I have no need to annoy the language police). "Intercourse" becomes "f**k." "Posterior" becomes "a*s." You get the point. The early founders of the English language didn't mince words, or letters, in expressing themselves. In my approaching dotage, I applaud this grounded language, this earthy expression of human activity and description. I am a man of the earth, a peasant, not an aristocrat. Sometimes I wish I was an aristocrat! Some of my friends are aristocrats, and I'd like to be one of them, sometimes. I can do "aristocrat" in short bursts, but it's tiring. I'm a peasant, and that's the truth. So be careful if you offend me. I might get p***ed off, and kick your a**s, or call you a f**khead, or a t**d. To me, that would be a good deal more satisfying than telling you that your "comments were uncalled for, and your language unacceptable to me. And I feel demeaned by your description of my behaviour." Nuff said, a**hole.
You may wonder where this came from, or how I tolerate it, being "a man of the cloth"? Well, first of all, remember that I was a child, a youth and a man before I was a man of the cloth. And also remember that I was raised in a decidedly working class, blue collar community. Salty language was the language of my youth. Through most of my adult - professional - life, I kept this aspect of my inner self under wraps. Again, hypocrisy and discretion in the service of image, held sway.
But now I am "an old man," and amazingly, I feel closer to my roots than at any time of my life. I suppose I spent a lot of years attempting to escape my roots, or at least cover them over with the rich loam of middle class existence. But, increasingly, I am just a boy from the part of the city where no middle class people wanted their kids to go. It was deemed "too tough." Even today, there is a Facebook page entitled, "I'm from Transcona, and I ain't trash." The reputation and the low self-image hangs on, you see, "even unto the third and fourth generation," as the Bible says.
Colourful language, or foul language, if you prefer, is a sign of poor education, and the lack of an appropriate vocabulary to express oneself. But you can see - or read - that I have reasonable language skills. A good cover for a blue collar boy with an inferiority complex. Clearly, I don't HAVE to express myself that way. So why do it?
I have pondered that a lot recently, even as stomped around the house, swearing at the idiotic actions of our Federal government. My mind was drawn back to something I learned in University English class, way back in the 50's. The language of the Romans, Latin, introduced Latin names for basic, four letter, Anglo Saxon terms. A return the Anglo-Saxon language is a return to the most basic level of my language roots. "Excrement" becomes "s**t" ( I don't what's appropriate in blogs. I have no need to annoy the language police). "Intercourse" becomes "f**k." "Posterior" becomes "a*s." You get the point. The early founders of the English language didn't mince words, or letters, in expressing themselves. In my approaching dotage, I applaud this grounded language, this earthy expression of human activity and description. I am a man of the earth, a peasant, not an aristocrat. Sometimes I wish I was an aristocrat! Some of my friends are aristocrats, and I'd like to be one of them, sometimes. I can do "aristocrat" in short bursts, but it's tiring. I'm a peasant, and that's the truth. So be careful if you offend me. I might get p***ed off, and kick your a**s, or call you a f**khead, or a t**d. To me, that would be a good deal more satisfying than telling you that your "comments were uncalled for, and your language unacceptable to me. And I feel demeaned by your description of my behaviour." Nuff said, a**hole.
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