by Clifford Kurt

Created on: August 07, 2009

CURSES AND THE NUN

"The use of profanity shows one's lack of command over one's language. These were the wise words of Tom Harms, my English teacher at St. John's Jesuit. The advice worked well in the late 1970's, and continues to serve me well today. I just wish he'd been there for me during 5th grade at Christ the King in 1972.

It was the first time I cursed. I was ten years old, my father and I were in the car and he let slip with the s word. I was shocked! In my 1970's world, adults rarely cursed, and good, decent adults NEVER cursed. How could my own father use such language?

Dad? You can't say that. That's a curse!

Nonsense, said my Dad. That's a perfectly fine word for a perfectly normal bodily function. (Kind reader, you must understand here that my father was a gastroenterologist, a physician specializing in digestive diseases, so when it came to discussions of bodily functions, his word was as good as The Almighty's.)

But Dad, I insisted. That's a curse word. If I use that word at school, I'd be in a heap of trouble.

Son, let me say it again, and you must believe me. (The Curse Word) is a perfectly fine word for a perfectly normal bodily function. If you get in trouble for using it, you just tell your teachers that I said you're permitted to use that word.

I believed him.

The very next day I used the s word. Fifth grade, Christ the King, Toledo, Ohio. At my earliest opportunity when the whole class could hear, during a discussion with my teacher, I said, Well, S*, Mrs. Nichols. I don't remember precisely what I said after that. I do remember things went gray for a while. I plaintively tried to explain to Mrs. Nichols that it was a perfectly fine word for a perfectly normal bodily function as she dragged me by the ear to the principal's office.

THE nun. Sister Mary Helen. Sitting in her office awaiting punishment meant staring up at the weeping Jesus on the crucifix. This was hell on earth. Those executive wannabes waiting to find out who Donald Trump will fire each week have nothing on me, for they've never awaited punishment at the hands of Sister Mary Helen.

Finally, I was called into her torture cha er her office. Mrs. Nichols recounted my misdeed. The nun, who generally liked me, was shocked. To her surprised yet stern countenance, I worked my way through what had by now become a weak and stammering attempt at it's a perfectly fine word for a perfectly normal bodily function.

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