1998-2006
My attempts to draw Abby to the Dark Side failed spectacularly. As it turned out, she was just too sweet to travel any further down the path than singing “The Imperial March” and that, in itself, was probably just a case of happenstance. Had Mitch been watching The Big Lebowski instead of The Empire Strikes Back she might have been strutting around the house repeating “Shut the [granddaddy of swears] up, Donny!” instead.
In order to prevent the accidental echoing of the “granddaddy of swears” from my tiny goddaughter, I did my level best to not swear in front of Abby or her siblings. I had become surprisingly adept at keeping my language G-Rated around my nephews, in no small part due to the proximity of my mom, Aunt Judy, and Grandma Studebaker, although Grandma probably wouldn’t have been phased by the occasional F-bomb. Mom, on the other hand, once told me – after I used the word “bullshit” when I was a junior in high school – that she had better never hear me cuss again. I took that to heart for the next twenty-five years. Keeping my cussing at bay around Abby, Maggie, and Sean was going swimmingly until….
Abby and Maggie were now around the ages of five and seven, respectively. The pair were riding home with me after church one gloriously beautiful autumn day. The girls were beyond pretty in their colorful dresses that were matching the colors of the changing leaves on the trees. The sun was bright, the sky was a deep azure, and the mood in my truck was joyful. And then some dumbass driver decided to ruin the mood by turning in front of us at almost the last second possible.
My driving experience in Fort Wayne was filled with dumbass drivers. Over the years of living here I had developed a sixth sense for such idiots on the road which enabled me to anticipate this particular dumbass’ move. My foot was hovering over the brake to prevent a collision. Thankfully, I avoided hitting the dumbass, thus protecting my precious cargo.
Another aspect of my driving experience in Fort Wayne is the development of reactionary cursing at dumbasses on the road. I know that I shouldn’t do it and that I should be able to control it, but, darn it, it just feels good to let loose with a few invectives when somebody does something stupid to impede my progress. Such was the case when this dumbass interrupted a peaceful drive on a beautiful autumn day.
“What the [granddaddy of swears]!” I shouted reflexively. “You stupid. Mother. [Granddaddy of swears]er.” As soon as it was out of my mouth I regretted it. I compounded it by uttering “Oh, shit.”
I quickly looked at the girls. “Girls, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” Their response nearly slayed me.
“It’s okay,” Maggie told me. “Dad says it all the time.”
Abby added, “Yeah. He says it a lot.”
The two of them started laughing about it which gave me great relief because I wanted to laugh, too. I burst out in laughter, laughing hard and well. The girls laughed even harder. Thank the Maker they didn’t repeat the word for more laughs like my nephews would have.
Despite the girls’ reassurance of their familiarity with such salty language, I managed to keep my language in check for the next several years. The gates on the dam, as it were, were opened up with approval following another similar incident.
Abby was now in middle school. She and I had been in a transitional phase of our goddaughter/godfather relationship for a few years. We were now more like a niece and her cool uncle (her description, not mine, though I can’t argue with it.) The two of us were the vanguard of a Black Family trip down to Evansville to visit our camping family.
We ran into traffic jam at I-70 and US 41 near Terre Haute. I immediately began snarling under my breath at the situation. Our wait wasn’t too bad as the jam finally became freed up and traffic started moving smoothly. The Promised Land of the green turn arrow onto US 41 was only a few car lengths ahead of us. I breathed a sigh of relief when the light turned green until the dumbass in front of me chose to creep ever so slowly to the intersection, making the left hand turn after the light turned red.
I was boiling inside. My knuckles were white as I gripped the steering wheel. Still though, I kept my mouth shut in front of Abby.
“If you want to say it,” Abby said, “just say it.” My love for this child grew exponentially as I grinned a dastardly grin.
“You stupid. Mother. [Granddaddy of swears]er!” Just like that all of the stress of the moment was gone. “Thank you, Punk,” I told Abby.
“Feel better?” she asked.
“Yes, I do,” I replied.
“Good.”
She reached across the seat to give my hand a firm squeeze. I gave her a big wink as we grinned at one another.
The niece and her cool uncle were now on their way to becoming best buddies.
A Lifetime Ago in a Neighborhood Now Far Away 