My Mom Cusses

The first time I remember my mom cussing I was shocked.  Terribly shocked obviously, if I recall it all these years later.

We were outside.  In front of the house.  On bicycles, oddly enough.  I don’t ever recall my mom being on a bicycle before or since.  We were going to ride to her sister’s house.

I have no idea where the other kids were.  Because if I was old enough to ride a bicycle with my mom that means there were kids younger than me in the household.

Come to think of it, I don’t recall ever doing anything in my childhood life with my mom, alone,  other than this.

And quite honestly I don’t even remember the bike ride.

Probably because of the shock of it all.

I do recall standing out front, with my foot on the curb.  Mom and I were both “on” our bikes but just standing there.  We heard the phone ring.  She made me run in to answer it.   Which means of course I had to get off of the bike, run through the yard, jump through the hedges in front of the house that we often jumped through instead of walking around.  Go through the living room, hallway, in the kitchen take a hard right curve in to the dining room where the phone sat upon a phone stand.

I ran like the wind.  I’m sure of this.

I got to the phone.

Picked it up.

Dial tone.

Of course they hung up as I picked it up.

Understandably.  If the phone rang often in our house then no one was there.  Which would also have been unusual.  Usually when you called our house it was answered quickly by fighting siblings racing for the phone.

I went back out and got on the bike as mom asked who it was.

I told her they had hung up when I picked up the phone.

This was back in the day of ….just house phones.    No answering devices.    No electronic recording of the number that had dialed our house.

Back in the day when the phone rang and you said “Hello?” or heaven help the child who answered it with “hi” or “talk to me” or “what!?”

I sat on the bike and mom said…

It still shocks me…

“What the hell Colleen!”     I swear, I really ran like the wind.  The curtains fluttered as I breezed through the house.

I kid you not.  I was traumatized.

This eventually led to her over the top cussing of “damn” and as an adult I heard her say “shit” quite often.

Progressive parenting.

It will be the decline of us.

Life was different before that event.

I’m glad I never cuss/cussed in front of my kids.  Probably would have had the same affect on them.