?How about f*ckface"? I ask my nine-year-old, as I lob a tennis ball to him. ?Ever heard that one"?
?Oooh, I love that one,? he replies, effortlessly making the catch. ?Throw it harder next time.?
It?s 6:30 p.m. and there are 2,537 things I?d rather be doing than sports. But I?m committed to both cutting back my kid?s screen time and finding ways to bond with my tween, who, right on schedule, is showing the first signs of pulling away from me.
So we?re playing catch?and talking swear words. What had started a few minutes earlier as an unintentional ?sh*t!? in response to the ball jamming my pinkie (see" Not a sports person) had morphed into an enthusiastic conversation about cursing. I had Max?s full attention, which was becoming a rare event. All he ever wants to talk about is baseball, video games and World War II, so he goes to the house expert on these topics: his dad. I?d lost my errand companion months ago, too. (If your kids still find grocery shopping fun, enjoy it while it lasts.) Max had always been clingy, so these changes weren?t completely unwelcome. But they also left me feeling a bit disconnected. Our swearing policy is pretty relaxed. Max is allowed to curse at appropriate times?a painful toe-stub, a Maple Leafs overtime loss?but not gratuitously, not at school, not in front of his little brother, and definitely not at anyone. A stereotypical first-born rule-follower, he has no trouble adhering to those guidelines.
But he wasn?t just learning ...