Not too long ago Evan used the word "stupid" and I blamed myself. I tend to say, "oh mommy's so stupid!" under my breath when I do something clumsy or flaky. (My mother said that, too. I blame her, too.) Just like when Allie on The Notebook said, "Oh I am a stupid woman," in keeping with her mother's sayings.

I took him aside and asked him where he'd heard that word... made the mistake of saying that it really wasn't a very nice word and mommy shouldn't say it, either, before he told me exactly where he'd heard it. "Oh, well I heard Donald Duck say that."

DOH! Was that ever a slap your forehead moment. Who knew anyone could understand a word Donald Duck said in the old cartoons... I think he may be the first.

So more recently, last Friday, when I was retrieving him from school, I was greeted by his teacher saying, "Evan got a smiley face today, but there's a little note that says see teacher next to inappropriate words, and I just wanted to let you know what that's about."

Oh no. What could he possibly have said, I thought. Stupid? Poo Poo? Pee Pee? Crap? I mean that's the extent of what he's heard around here. "What did he say?" I asked, bracing myself...

"Well he was spelling words with Play Do and had made an s, h, i... and we said, 'okay, if he goes for the t we'll have to talk to him...' and sure enough, he got the t.'

"Well he's always spelling words on his board at home and we argue about whether they're real words. He doesn't understand that just because they make audible sense doesn't mean they're not real words..."

"Well, it's no big deal, I mean sometimes parents slip-"

"No! No, you don't understand. Crap would be a slip at our house. I mean, he doesn't hear that at home."

It was at that moment that I realized nothing I said would change how these teachers perceived me or him. They were thinking, 'oh, this poor, embarrassed woman, defending herself and her sailor-swearing mouth... and the poor little urchins that live with her...'

"Well, no, he knew what he was spelling," she insisted, "Ms. Jan took him aside and asked him if he knew what word that was. 'Yes, shit.' he said.'"

"Well yes, he can read and make words but that doesn't mean they have meaning to him."

(To this she was secretly thinking, 'right, like when you curse lady, he's not aware that the word has meaning, just that you say it.') But how could I possibly find the words or physical evidence to throw on the table for her? It was a lost battle.

Ms. Jan then came out and we repeated the entire conversation in exactly the same way; them saying he knew what he was saying, me saying he really didn't, and then them telling me stories about their own children saying crap in a doctors office to try to make me feel better. I didn't. They said crap not shit, and they were parroting a parent; he wasn't. Oh the injustice! Oh the depravity! No that we're perfect, but innocent, yes! He was completely innocent.

And me? I was on the brink of tears. The completely unexpected "brink of tears," and I choked up when I strapped him into his car seat, while he chattered away and casually said somewhere in the middle, "mommy, I spelled a bad word today but I didn't know it was a bad word."

That was it. Right then I broke the 6th commandment because I wanted to kill the woman that told my child there were such things as bad words. He's five. I know he'll know that in about a year when he starts kindergarten, but couldn't it have waited?

A couple deep breaths and a reality check later, I realized there are kids who hear these words at home, so how could I blame them? They don't know me; don't know if we do or don't say these things, and the equation for them was "if error, then truth... if sin, then rebuke." So I think they overreacted- tough. This is only the beginning of what is to come with school, teacher, and peer happenings. I'm going to have to grow some even thicker skin. I'm going to have to laugh a little more and hurt a little less. I'm going to have to let him live and have experiences without owning them, because doing that, in a small way, robs him. And those small ways could add up and he'll resent me for it.

I'll have to be more like Shaun, who, when I told the story, replied, "well f$&% her!" (He was kidding, fulfilling the teacher's accusations, before you have a hernia, Nana.)

As hard as it is to watch Evan live and learn, I'm going to have to do it, and do it well. As hard as it is to watch him wrestle through the daddy lion's death on The Lion King, it's good. It's good to talk about Scar, evil, Satan... and Simba, redemption, Jesus. Because somewhere in the midst of it he gets stronger. It's like watching Bambi learning to walk on ice; awkward and sometimes painful, but beautiful, too.

11 For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. 12 Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. Jeremiah 29

Labels: Evan, parenting