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Parental Guidance Suggested
July 7, 2011
I am an adult. Well, I think I am. I have a house, a job, a long-time partner. But when I go home to Pittsburgh to visit my parents I immediately revert to feeling like a teenager. I watch my mouth, I ask permission to borrow the car, and I edit my stories. It’s like I am 17 again and I feel as if have to censor myself around my folks.
I am not a potty-mouthed, x-rated crazy person normally; although I do enjoy a well-placed curse word and dirty joke, but when I am around my parents I am much more aware of my actions. My parents don’t require that I edit my normal R-rated self down to a PG but I respect them enough that I don’t want come off like a raging jackass, or “donkey butt” as I will say in the presence of my dad.
This isn’t just me that feels this way. My friend Debbie and I joke that before we watch a movie with our folks we have to make sure it is “parent friendly”. That means no sex or nudity. I also edit my stories. If the real events involved strippers, alcohol, and a well placed F word the censored events will contain dancers, Pepsi-cola, and a comic use of the word “DAGNABBIT!”
But it isn’t just that I don’t want to watch actors have sex and flash their goodies in the company of my parents, I also watch my mouth.
Part of it is that my parents never swear. I have never heard my dad say a curse word – the closest he has ever gotten was “crumb bum” which I think is a cuss that Holden Caufield used in Catcher and the Rye or “dirty bird” to refer to someone that I would normally call an effing a-hole. His mild swears are kind of cute. I have only ever heard my mom swear once. When I was 10 years old she said “damn” because my sister and I were being pains and we missed the school bus. That stuck with me and to this day I will NOT swear in front of my parents. Of course, at home I curse like a sailor but the minute my plane lands in Pittsburgh I revert to “dangit” and “crap” and “son of a gun!”
It seems that no matter how well you get along with your parents, and fortunately I get along with mine very well, it is still a bit humbling to have to ask permission to do things you normally take for granted. When I was home for a week over Christmas I was constantly having to ask “Mom, can I borrow the car to go out with friends?” and then account for what time I expect to be home it makes me feel like I am back in high school and not in a good way. I think that I always will refer to Pittsburgh as “home” and at home, I need to behave myself.
So after a week of minding my Ps and Qs, when I got back to Chicago I went a little nuts. I cursed at a guy who barreled into me on the el, I watched a few R-rated films, and I went to the gay bars to enjoy some go-go boys. But when my mom called and asked how my week was I gave her the edited G-rated version.
I am not a potty-mouthed, x-rated crazy person normally; although I do enjoy a well-placed curse word and dirty joke, but when I am around my parents I am much more aware of my actions. My parents don’t require that I edit my normal R-rated self down to a PG but I respect them enough that I don’t want come off like a raging jackass, or “donkey butt” as I will say in the presence of my dad.
This isn’t just me that feels this way. My friend Debbie and I joke that before we watch a movie with our folks we have to make sure it is “parent friendly”. That means no sex or nudity. I also edit my stories. If the real events involved strippers, alcohol, and a well placed F word the censored events will contain dancers, Pepsi-cola, and a comic use of the word “DAGNABBIT!”
But it isn’t just that I don’t want to watch actors have sex and flash their goodies in the company of my parents, I also watch my mouth.
Part of it is that my parents never swear. I have never heard my dad say a curse word – the closest he has ever gotten was “crumb bum” which I think is a cuss that Holden Caufield used in Catcher and the Rye or “dirty bird” to refer to someone that I would normally call an effing a-hole. His mild swears are kind of cute. I have only ever heard my mom swear once. When I was 10 years old she said “damn” because my sister and I were being pains and we missed the school bus. That stuck with me and to this day I will NOT swear in front of my parents. Of course, at home I curse like a sailor but the minute my plane lands in Pittsburgh I revert to “dangit” and “crap” and “son of a gun!”
It seems that no matter how well you get along with your parents, and fortunately I get along with mine very well, it is still a bit humbling to have to ask permission to do things you normally take for granted. When I was home for a week over Christmas I was constantly having to ask “Mom, can I borrow the car to go out with friends?” and then account for what time I expect to be home it makes me feel like I am back in high school and not in a good way. I think that I always will refer to Pittsburgh as “home” and at home, I need to behave myself.
So after a week of minding my Ps and Qs, when I got back to Chicago I went a little nuts. I cursed at a guy who barreled into me on the el, I watched a few R-rated films, and I went to the gay bars to enjoy some go-go boys. But when my mom called and asked how my week was I gave her the edited G-rated version.
