High school. I loved high school, and frankly, I’m surprised that everyone didn’t love it!
For me, high school was a time of firsts—learning to drive a car and my first job working at the fried chicken joint. And, of course there’s something that nobody ever forgets … high school is the time for first love.
I don’t remember experiencing the negativity of teenage angst, which is the theme of all young adult novels and television shows these days. Since I viewed life through rose-colored glasses, I thought everybody loved high school.
It’s now been almost 15 years since I attended my twenty-year high school reunion. At that time, I was not yet forty years old, and surprisingly, I still felt like I did the day I graduated. Arriving at the old gymnasium in my “retro” platform heels and scoop-neck spandex dress, I didn’t recognize anyone—and I stuck out like a sore thumb. Luckily, I found one of my best friends in high school, who was also my first college roommate. Since we had the same fashion sense, we commiserated about how bad everyone else looked. She remembered a lot more about our high school experience than I did. As she remembered it, there was angst … lots of angst.
That same year, I took a trip back to the town where I attended elementary school and ran into a childhood friend. She took great pleasure in making me feel uncomfortable as she related the story of when we first met. According to her, I pulled her into the girl’s bathroom and insisted that she learn to cuss. I was six years old. And not only that! I insisted that she use the mack daddy of all cuss words, the F--- word! I have absolutely no recollection of this. I tried to suggest that it must have been someone else, but her sister confirmed her account.
Memory is a funny thing … we all want to be the heroes of our own stories. What I remember is that I’ve never cussed. I took to heart the advice I overheard my grandpa giving to one of my uncles. He said, “Using swear words shows your ignorance and lack of vocabulary,” which made sense to me.
I once auditioned for a role in a gritty independent movie. The character I hoped to play was the wife of a drug-dealing basketball star. The sides, which are the lines I had to memorize, were full of F bombs and other profanities. I rehearsed and rehearsed for the audition, but the words never sounded right when I said them. Needless to say, I didn’t get the job.
Avoiding profanity is challenging at best. You can hear a good selection of words at any time of day by simply switching on the television. When the kids were younger, we had a “swear can.” If anyone in the house used inappropriate language, the offender had to put fifty cents into the can. I can’t remember what we agreed to do with the money if the can filled up.
Today, the can, a little rusty and dusty, sits empty on the top of the refrigerator, and I still cringe a little when cuss words are thrown out in everyday conversation. I hear my grandfather’s voice and remember how he used to raise his bushy eyebrows, willing you to be smarter. I once read that the front page of the newspaper was written at an eight-grade reading level, but in recent years it has been reduced to a fourth-grade level, which confirms the general dumbing down of our vocabulary … just as my grandfather warned.
My husband finds my aversion to foul language amusing. Rather than try to explain it, I picture my grandfather, raise my eyebrows and I say, “It’s against my sensibilities.”