A Child, His Mother, God & Shit

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I was about eight years old when I thought I was a big man and blurted out the word Shit to show my younger brother and sister what a tough guy I was. I loved to use the word ‘shit’ and often spit the word out lavishly and with venom… out of earshot of adults of course. My brother would gasp “ooo… mommy better not hear you say that!” Smugly, I would say it a few more times.

I didn’t care who heard me. Not even God!

One summer afternoon, after lunch, I was playing with my brother and sister in the yard. We were probably arguing about something mundane – a toy perhaps – but to a child, it was of earth-shattering consequence.

Sure that I was out of earshot of my very Protestant Evangelical Fundamentalist Christian Mother who had been known to not spare the rod on occasion, I yelled out Shit! thinking that would end the earth-shattering dispute.

Immediately, I heard, PAAAAAAAAUUUUULLLL! emerge – breaking the sound barrier – from inside the house.

I cringed.

It was not the ‘PAAUULL! where are you? – come home from dinner’ yell.

Nor was it the ‘PAAUULL! Come home, it’s getting dark!’ yell.

This was clearly the ‘Oh shit, you’re in big fucking trouble’ yell.

Sheepishly, I walked into the house. My brother and sister followed cautiously behind me to see what would happen. They knew that ‘PAAUULL!’ yell all too well.

My mother called me into the living room.

“What did I just hear you say?” she asked looking me straight in the eyes. I looked away.

Ship,” I said.

It did not sound like ‘ship’ to me,” she retorted.

It wasn’t!” My brother and sister betrayed me.

Go stand in the corner,” she commanded. I walked past the piano to stand in the corner. As punishment, she told me I must repeat the word Shit for ten minutes.

This was something new! She was actually going to let me say the word Shit for ten minutes?

AWESOME!

It started out fine and dandy and I began strong: SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! My younger brother and sister were trying to stifle their laughter as I repeated SHIT! over and over.

My mother had gone to the kitchen… but was still within earshot.

This was way better than my Evangelical Christian Mother not sparing the rod!

For the first few minutes, it was cool. I got to say the word Shit ! and I would look over my shoulder intermittently – and cautiously as one could only stare at the wall in the corner and was not permitted to look around – at my younger brother and sister complacently as they stood by watching and grinning.

After what seemed like an hour – but was in fact only five minutes – Shit stopped sounding like word.

My younger brother and sister – not able to contain themselves anymore – were laughing hysterically.

Another minute or so passed, and Shit not only stopped sounding like a word it had also lost all its meaning.

My tongue, the roof of my mouth and even my teeth began to feel numb. I did not know where the [sh] sound began and the [t] sound ended.

My mouth muscles had begun to cramp up and I stopped for a moment to try to form the word.

Did I tell you to stop?” My mother called out. “I’m adding on two more minutes!”

 I cried out. My smug smirk had long faded into an agonizing grimace.

Shit – shiiit – shi – tish – tish – shshh. shitishtishitit… I struggled.

As the 10 minute mark came and went, the word Shit fumbled out of my confused mouth as I prayed to God – whom must have been listening and looking down on the situation with glee – to have mercy and speed up time.
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Finally, my mother came back to the living room, “turn around,” she ordered.

I turned slowly around.

Did you learn a lesson?” she asked.

I nodded and tried to say yes. I heard myself say Yesh instead.

I tried to say yes again. Yesh, I sputtered. I gave up and just nodded.

I vowed never to use the word Shit thereafter and indeed it was quite a while before saying the word felt natural and good again.

Once I realized I could say Shit without stuttering or feeling strange, I vowed to only use the word sparingly… and out of earshot of Mother.

A couple of years later, when Shit no longer gave me that big person feeling, I experimented with the word Fuck… but that is a whole other story.

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You might also like to read some other short stories by Boston Paul AKA The Militant Hippi:

  1. About a Great Grandfather and his Great Grandson:My Great Grandfather: When Cultures Clash. Ass kicking, long hair and Hard Knocks

    2.  This is my weapon and this is my Gun, based on real life events, a young man finds himself in Central America:

https://bostonpaul.wordpress.com/2016/01/12/this-is-my-weapon-and-this-is-my-gun/

3. Hate waiting in line?  This is for you:

https://bostonpaul.wordpress.com/2011/02/11/the-express-lane-10-items-or-less/

4. The Would Be Patriot:

https://bostonpaul.wordpress.com/2010/10/05/a-good-young-man-or-lockes-socks-the-would-be-patriot/

5. A bit of Horror and suspense… never blow this guy’s candle out!

https://bostonpaul.wordpress.com/2010/07/24/short-story-the-flame-that-softly-danced/

6. Getting Stoned at The Fair

https://bostonpaul.wordpress.com/2010/01/17/short-story-stoned-at-the-fair/

 

 

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4 CommentsLeave a comment

  1. plumbers putty tape

    A Child, His Mother, God & Shit | The Militant Hippi

  2. Hardly surprising to discover you were a little shit! 🙂

    But at least your mom engaged in the act of parenting…rules consequences, etc. These days, parents let them do whatever the fuck they feel like and they give them tablets/phones to keep them occupied (aka couch bound and comatose)

    • Looking back, I realize my mother did a pretty good job despite the religious bits and being a single mom with three kids.

      • The quality of her final product speaks for itself. 😉

        Similarly, the total lack of quality in the products cranked out by the overwhelming majority of today’s “parents” also speaks for itself. They make “Made in China” look like “Made in Germany”.


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