Language

Priscilla snuggled down deeper into the covers and looked up at her father. Mark knew this was her favorite time, when things were slow and people had time to talk about things they might not say during the day when everyone was busy. For a parent, this was a time to be on guard. Children were wiley at night, using many tricks to stay awake or gain forbidden knowledge. It was when they were cutest, and most dangerous. He braced himself and looked back into his daughter's innocent brown eyes. He didn't know what would come, but he knew something would.

“Daddy, what are bad words?”

Mark felt a momentary rush of panic, faced by one of the questions every parent knows the answer to, but doesn’t know how to respond. He smiled and handed her Mr. Bear.

“Well, honey, there are lots of kinds of bad words. Mostly they’re words we don’t say because they’re rude and might hurt people.”

Priscilla hugged her bear and furrowed her brow.

“What’s ‘rude’?”

Mark felt a bit warm, actually picturing himself on a stove burner he thought he’d skillfully avoided. He wondered if his wife was listening. He thought if she was, she was smiling, glad it wasn’t her. He suddenly envied his own father, who had the advantage of a ready drink and cigarettes when he was in the hot seat.

“Well, rude is when you say or do something impolite, like slamming a door in someone’s face.” He mocked putting a finger up his nose, and made a face. “Or picking your nose and flicking the boogers at little girls!”

Priscilla squealed and Mark tickled her.

“Okay, does that answer your question?”

Priscilla nodded slowly. “I think so. Why do people say them?”

Mark smiled again. Easy question. Not the follow-up question he was dreading.

“Ah. Because they’re mean, or angry, or hurt. Or because they don’t know any better. But know better. My big girl doesn’t say anything like that.”

She shook her head emphatically. “Nooo, I’m a good girl!”

Mark kissed her forehead. “That’s right. Now go to sleep, okay? Good night good girl.” He walked to the doorway and turned out the light.

“Daddy?”

“Yes?”

“Is ‘stupid’ a bad word?”

“Not all the time. You could say that something you didn’t like is stupid, but if you say a person is stupid, that’s not nice. Did someone call you stupid?”

“No, I just thought it would be a bad one. What about ‘zuck’?”

“That’s not a word.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. There’s a word that sounds like it that you shouldn’t say, but ‘zuck’ is not a word. There are lots of ‘-uck’ words, and almost all of them are fine, but ‘zuck’ doesn’t mean anything.”

“The man in my closet says it’s a bad one. He said I should ask you and we would see.”

“The…who? Honey, I told you there is no man in your closet. Every kid thinks there is, I thought there was. But there’s not. No man in there, no monster under the bed, and your dolls can’t move. None of that is real. It’s either dreams, or nightmares, or your imagination, but none of that is for real. Don’t worry about it. And ‘zuck’ is not a word. I’m a writer and a teacher, I would know. Buck, duck, luck, muck, puck, ruck, suck, tuck, truck, and yuck, those are the –uck words, plus there’s the bad one, but ‘zuck’ isn’t it. It’s not a word, okay?”

“But he said it is. He even sang a song and he said to sing it is bad:

Zuck hara, zuck hain

Zuck hara, zuck hain

Rise specter, rise demon

Be born, live again

Zuck hara, zuck hain

Zuck hara, zuck zain.”

A chill ran down Mark’s spine.

The closet door opened.