Illo by Julia Werth at the demure FartParty.com

Just returned from a midweek visit to stay with old friends and their toddler up in the stormy, lovely hamlet of Pt. Reyes Station, California.

They are in a mixed marriage. He “grew up redneck,” as he put it, in Southwest Virginny. She’s from the heart of San Francisco, and even went to the Waldorf school, a sadly anti-redneck institution.

As with many mixed-blood kids, their 18-month-old child is freaking adorable. Blond and sunny, with a fat belly and a fat lower lip, he’s just one of those children that even the kid-haters fall in love with.

But when it comes to language, he’s hit an early stumbling block. No, he’s not confused about whether to say Taters or Potatoes (I bet he sides with his daddy on that one, because really, Taters is fun to say, even for Yankees). Rather, the problem is that the boy’s first real, reliable, repeated word seems to be Goddamn.

He says it breathy and half-enunciated, like Will Ferrell’s kid mouthing off in The Landlord, but it’s unmistakable. He likes to say it especially when he’s climbed on top of a chair or bench. It’s kind of an exultation.

But just what should be done about it? They’ve decided to ignore it and hope that it would go away. It is a reasonable suggestion. It worked well when our girl dropped an F-bomb just a couple months after her third birthday. We kept a poker face about it, and she moved on.

Now our daughter Dalia has gotten permanently excited about other ribaldries: stupid, stupidhead, doo-doo-head—things she learned at school.

That I can deal with. All it proves is that her preschool classmates are a bunch of asshats who think doo-doo is a funny thing to say. But when a toddler—whose ears are still virgin to playground obscenity—swears, it’s a direct reflection on the parents. It’s a window into the less-than-perfect life we all lead behind closed doors.

I always felt this way when I heard Dalia scold her little brother. She didn’t know anything to say except what she hears me say: “Shoot, Nico, shoot. Shoot! I told you to leave that alone twice already!” She sounds like she’s doing a spot-on impersonation of an uptight, impatient bastard. Which, in effect, is exactly what she’s doing.

Notice that it’s grating even though there are no swear words. I guess I’d rather she just let out a happy hillbilly Goddamn than parrot my obnoxious G-rated tirades.