My son first cussed when he was about two-and-a-half. He didn’t realize that cussing was a bad thing, or that he was saying something he shouldn’t. He was just mimicking his (naughty) parents. He toddled into our bedroom from his room and announced, “Oh s**t, there’s monsters in the hallway!”

His inflection was perfect, just like you might say, “Oh s**t, there’s ants in the kitchen!” We knew, of course, that we didn’t dare make eye contact, because both of us would bust out laughing. And we had to be serious in this moment, because Robbie needed to know that he shouldn’t repeat that word. So explained that some words were naughty and were not to be used, and that Mommy and Daddy would stop saying those words, too. After he left the room and was out of earshot, of course, we started laughing like maniacs.

We did succeed at not saying those words for a while, though. The first time Becca cussed, she said, “DAGNABBIT!” I was so proud.

There’s only one bad word I’ve ever heard my grandmother say, and that’s “damn.” Now, when I was three, we lived in Louisville, Kentucky, and apparently there was a dam nearby. So at a very early age, I understood that there was the bad “damn” and the acceptable “dam” that holds the water back. Nana was visiting us in Kentucky and got frustrated with something and let out a “Damn!” Being precocious and very concerned with everybody’s proper behavior, I asked, “Nana, is that the kind that holds the water back?” You can imagine how this made my already frustrated Nana feel!