The Queen Mother of Dirty Words

I have heard psychologists note that when a child witnesses a truly traumatic event, that child is able to recall that event, years later, with such clarity it confounds reality. Almost as though a TV is replaying the event in their mind. Well, I remember this story like it was yesterday. In fact, their are few memories of my entire childhood that I can recall with such absolute and vivid detail. Extreme duress does that to a kid, I guess.

Well, it all began on a rainy, rainy day in the fall of 1984. In the first grade classroom of Mrs. Swanson a little Jason Darrah sat learning to read. As recess approached it became obvious that today would be what was referred to in academic circles as "indoor recess." To a kid in first grade, few things are better than recess. Real, outside, playing on the swings, getting dirty, recess. So to be forced into an "indoor recess" was a let down, but still better than learning to read.

At West Elementary, indoor recess was all about board games. You name it, Mrs. Swanson had it all. We would spread out throughout the classroom, break out the board games and let the best man win.

On this particular indoor recess, I was across the room building a massive Lego castle. The hour seemed to fly by. Before I knew it, the little bell was ringing and it was time to return to our desk. This is where the day took a very, very wrong turn.

As I approached my desk, I could see two little first grade girls sitting at my desk playing checkers. Cooly I approached my desk and without a moment's hesitation, or even lowering my voice, I said,

"Get these fudgin' checkers off my desk."

The world, for a moment, came to a screaching halt. Time stopped. The entire classroom went silent. I looked up to the cold, icy, penetrating, squinting stare of Mrs. Swanson.

"What did you say?" She asked.

At this point in the tale I'm reminded of one of my favorite movies, A Christmas Story:

Ralphie: Oooh fuuudge!
Ralphie as adult: Only I didn’t say “Fudge.” I said THE word, the big one, the queen-mother of dirty words, the “F-dash-dash-dash” word!
Mr. Parker: WHAT did you say?
Ralphie: Uh, um…
Mr. Parker: That’s…what I thought you said. Get in the car. Go on!
Ralphie as adult: It was all over – I was dead. What would it be? The guillotine? Hanging? The chair? The rack? The Chinese water torture? Hmmph. Mere child’s play compared what surely awaited me.

"Uh, nothing," was the only pathetic response I could muster.

I expected death - quick, yet painful. But Mrs. Swanson threw me a curve. She took no action. She held all the cards - as well as my fragile, young life in the palm of her hands. Over her decades of teaching first graders, she knew what "leverage" meant.

"Jason, I want you to go home tonight and tell your mother what you said." She left it at that. She knew that in the four hours before I got home, I'd find religion.

The life of a first grader is odd. Something as truly momentous as using the queen-mother of dirty words in front of your teacher and entire first grade class is yesterday's news by 3:05 p.m. Looking back, I can honestly say, I forgot to tell my Mother. Really. Completely slipped my mind. Until...

About 7:30 p.m., same day, at the little house at 409 N. Elm St. the phone rings. Little Jason is sitting on the couch playing with two Star Wars storm troopers. I still remember which ones - the jungle storm troopers from Return of the Jedi that wore the funny helmets. Anyway, my Mother was in the bedroom changing the diapers of my sister Amanda.

She hollered from the bedroom, "Jason, will you get that?"

Oblivious to how my life was about to change, I skipped across the living room and answered the phone, "Hello?"

"Hello, Jason. Do you know who this is?"

"Mrs. Swanson?" I may have forgotten...but she had not. The time had come to atone for my sins.

"Did you tell your Mother what you said?"

"Uh, no...Do you want me to now?"

"No. Let me speak to her, please."

My Mother came to the phone and I went and sat down on the couch, still clutching my storm troopers. Fear gripped my very soul. "So this is how it ends," I thought.

From the living room I could only hear one side of the conversation, but I knew it wasn't going well for me...
"Hello?...Yes, this is Lora...Yes...Yes...Ok...WHAT?...He said WHAT?...WHAT!!...Oh, Mrs. Swanson, I have no idea where he heard that word. We do not speak like that in this house. I'm terribly sorry. I'm so sorry...this won't happen again...we don't speak like that in this house, I assure you...I'm so sorry...I will take care of this."

The toll struck midnight. The reaper was coming for me. My Mother said she would take care of it...and she wasn't lying.

I could hear the phone 'click' as it hung up. I acted as though I was still playing and didn't know what was going on. It's the only move I had left.

"Get in here." My Mother's voice rang through the kitchen.

I won't go in to all of the details that transpired - the punishment was quick, just and wouldn't be soon forgotten.

"You will NEVER use that word again!" as the bar of Irish Spring soap was stuck in my mouth. I sat there in the bathrooom for what seemed like forever - with the soap in my mouth. Finally, she took it out and the ordeal was over.

She sent me straight to bed to "think about what I had done." My life would never be the same.