Fun? Frolic? Friends? Folly?

When I was a kid, a neighbor mom — a nice-enough woman, though one whose depth approximated that of a sheet of Saran Wrap — giggled to my mother that she’d taught her two small daughters to curse, “because it’s cute.” My mother went slackjawed at this, and, looking back, I’m with Mom. As I’ve noted recently, my wife and I think our own slovenly tendencies are something to be shamefully eradicated, not something we want to pass on.

Much closer to my brand of thinking: this extremely entertaining post by Guardian contributor (and, now, movie guy) Jon Ronson. He, like us, is not proud of his filthy mouth; he’s gone out of his way to keep his kid from picking up his language habits, and good on him.

The thing is, teaching your kid to throw around the F-word is just asking for trouble, because you know who’s going to face the tirades: you, the loving parent. All you’re doing is arranging for a future filled with tantrums that are foul as well as exhausting. Plus, if you happen to live in Minnesota, things can go really bad in the end.