The motherbleeper was giving me lip during a fourth grade physics exercise, so I responded in kind.
I don’t remember what he said because it’s not important to the story and this particular classmate’s ribbing was standard practice. My response was not. Audible to all my classmates – teacher included – I called him a bastard.
The collective gasps told me everything I needed to know. Goody-good Corey done said a bad word.
I could have sworn I heard that word in a cartoon show. I envisioned an animated pirate wielding word as they would “scoundrel” or “scallywag.” A harmless jab. Nope. It was a tier-two or -three swear. It could also mean “a child born out of wedlock,” which gave me an out. The victim of my obscenity laughed it off. “He’s actually right – I am,” he told the class.
My face was hot with embarrassment. It’s one of those rent-free cringe memories. I wanted to hide. I did the opposite instead.
The teacher asked for volunteers to demonstrate the effects on blowing on paper. For some reason, I volunteered. For some reason, my teacher picked me. For obvious reasons, my peers groaned. “That’s the bad-word boy!” a class troublemaker said in protest.
My teacher at no point commented on my foul language. Standing before my critics in shame, I blew over the top of a piece of paper. The paper lifted. Oooooh.
Each of my core memories are usually misplaced punishments brought upon me. I may discuss those at a later date. But this event was the reverse because there were no consequences except for my momentary humiliation. I suspect my teacher knew it was a one-off mistake and my visible shame was punishment enough.
It was an effective lesson – no canceling needed. I wish more people utilized this type of discipline. I wish more people knew shame.
How do I know it was effective? Since that day, I have never called anyone a bastard – even if they were born out of wedlock. And aside from that era of trying to fit in during middle school, you won’t hear obscenities come from my mouth. Rapping to Eminem? Self bleep. Stub my toe? “Dagnabbit!” Quoting Letterkenny? FU THIBODEAUX!
My verbal restraint is the one slice of purity I have left. If nothing in this world has changed that by now, nothing will.
I swear.