Think About It. Language Coarse. It’s been bothering me for quite a while, and I’m extremely displeased. It doesn’t happen often, and for good reason. You will probably not understand my disgust, perhaps even irritation without knowing part of my earlier learning life.
After riding my two-wheeled tricycle on the sidewalk near the quiet highway passing our modest Michigan home, I wandered through the front lawn full of our dinner’s dandelion greens. At the back of the back yard, I joined Billy and Betty in time for one of them to comment on the passing of a train, a frequent occurence in the small town called Grand Junction. “There goes that g.. d.. train.” My store of speech skills had just garnered this three year old a new and powerfully descriptive phrase which I repeated for my mother the next time there was the hoot of a warning whistle and the click-clack of the track. With no visible emotion and no sense of censure, she simply said. That wasn’t a g.. d.. train. That was a very nice passenger train, a distinction I later reported to my young friends.
A few years later, newly teen, coming home from Tampa University where I took lessons in chess and fencing, I began to include adult instructors’ more emotional words I hadn’t previously mastered to punctuate conversations at home. The same unflappable mom appealed to my pride. “You wouldn’t want people to think you didn’t have a good vocabulary would you? Of course you know more descriptive ways to say the same thing.” Of course I wouldn’t, and of course I did. Touché.
The late ’70s brought caution from some that I seemed to be suppressing my emotions or limiting my expression by not using the then current crudities of speech. After assuring my advisers that I had no anger to let out and felt quite comfortable with my limited language skills, they politely abandoned attempts at tutoring.
Lately, colorful language seems to have become common in public places, on radio and television. Movies depicting people for whom violent or casually coarse conversation is the norm do not offend my sense of dignity or decorum. But it seems to me that decent people in public places could, should quite simply watch their mouths when offering their opinions. No prude, I have no desire to outlaw anyone’s private conduct, but would prefer that gross gutteral (I’ll spell it my way.) language not be used in public places.
There’s an announcement of anger that irritates me enough that I hit the web to see who else was saying it for national publication. There were dozens of quotes, mostly credited to “unknown” with the exception of Ewan McGregor and Jennifer Aniston, neither of whom I consider role models for young minds. Imagine my sad surprise when the President of the United States, speaking before the chroniclers of history at the White House Correspondent’s dinner joined the ranks of rank speakers. His intended barbed humor was dulled when he talked about the traffic jam in D.C., saying Chris Christie must have really been “pissed off”.
Now I admit it, but not out loud. I’m pissed. So I’ve said it. I hope my amateur speech teachers are happy. There’s a place for potty talk, and it’s on or in the potty. Not for POTUS to provide care and training of already jaded journalists. By now you must know I do not prefer my Language Coarse. Think About It.