Memoir Monday: The day I shamed my parents and learned how to cuss.
I think I was like most little sisters out there. I listened to everything my big brother said like it was the word of God. He was my big brother, why would he lie to me?
That blind trust is why I had a broken arm the summer after 3rd grade, flipped a three wheeler into a ditch in middle school and got shot in the forehead with a bb gun one night when calling Bro in for dinner.
It's also how I learned to cuss and shamed my parents.
Just a little background for you, so you get the full appreciation of my parents' shame. I grew up in a very small town where we are all pretty much cousins. Taylorville. My family ran the local country store there for generations. We sold hand dipped ice cream, subs and sandwiches, various dry goods and such and beer and wine. It was the kind of store you don't see around much anymore.
We even had a fully stocked penny candy case, or what I like to call the 'after dinner buffet'. But enough about my food issues. On with the story.
The family store sat right on the main corner of Taylorville. On the opposite corner was the local beauty salon. Our street was the hub of Taylorville, especially at lunch time. Our subs were pretty famous around town resulting in a lunch rush every day (people still talk about our subs, years after the store closed).
The store was located in the first floor of our house. We were always in and out and around and often got sent outside when we were making too much noise horsing around upstairs. Especially during the lunch rush. Mom would get on the intercom and tell us to knock it off and we'd go outside and horse around.
It was on one such day that Bro and I were outside riding our bikes. It was a restless day for us. The store was busy and Mom and Dad were tending to the lunch rush so we were unsupervised. And bored.
Bro saw an opportunity. We had just been watching some show we weren't supposed to be watching and the word 'bastard' had been used by one of the characters. I was too young to know what it meant, but I knew it was a bad word.
Bro decides he's going to call me a bastard as we're riding around outside the store.
Me: Ooooooh. You can't say that. I'm telling.
Bro: I can to. It's not a bad word.
Me: Yes it is. Mom said so. I'm telling.
Bro: You're so stupid. It is not a bad word. Anybody can say it and they won't get in trouble. Bastard.
Me: Don't call me that.
Bro: Why not? It's just a stupid word. Stupid like you. You're probably too chicken to say it anyway. You're so stupid.
Me: I'm not chicken. I just don't want to get in trouble. Like you (sticking my tongue out for full effect).
Bro: Stupid. I told you it's not a bad word. You won't get in trouble, bastard.
Me: Fine! You're a bastard. Bastard. Bastard. Bastard.
I continued chanting the word 'bastard' at Bro as we rode around and around the store. Singing it out loud for all of Taylorville to hear.
"You're a bastard." "A smelly smelly bastard." "Eww what a bastard."
"Hi Mr. Johnson! See you at church tomorrow?"
"Bastard. Bastard. Bastard." "Bastard. Bastard. Bastard."
I was quite proud of myself.
Until...Mom sent for me.
Apparently Mr. Johnson couldn't keep his big mouth shut. Stupid bastard. Some of the other customers got a kick out if, I'm sure.
Boy, was Mom pissed though. Her precious little angel cursing up a storm for all of Taylorville to hear. She was not amused.
I'm pretty sure Bro got in trouble over that one.
I hate to imagine what she'd think of me now. Bastard? Come on, that's f*#@ing child's play.