Cussing: should it really be put to an end?

Every once in a while I come across a story that reminds me of why I bother to read the news.

This morning I found an article about a 14-year old boy that went to school one day and decided he was sick of hearing all his friends cuss. Upon asking them to stop, they replied with complaints that they didn't even know they were doing it, and they didn't know how to stop. That's when McKay Hatch started the No Cussing Club.

I was introduced to the art of swearing in 4th grade. Mitch Bodily would guide me around the the playground during recess and use every word in the book to describe the goings on. "Lets go see who's on the #%*@ slide right now."

We swore for the same reason a kid does anything they're not supposed to do: it's a rush. Using such words brought about a sense of liberation.

I did my best to reserve cussing for recesses with Mitch, but I quickly found opportunities to use it at home. One thing led to another, and I was soon getting the soap treatment on my tongue.

Since those carefree days, I've done a pretty good job of watching my language. Even the summer before college, when I worked with a concrete crew, I did a good job of holding my tongue. And those guys swore so much they made angry sailors sound like devout monks.

McKay Hatch's No Cussing Club (nocussing.com) invites people of all ages to join their team and take the No Cussing Challenge. 30,000 people have joined thus far. After one week of no swearing you're an Apprentice, after one month a Journeyman, and after one year a Master.

I don't think I could make it to Journeyman. Over the last month I've had to fix the faucet, my wife's car door, and the dishwasher. Each one of those tasks required at least one well-placed hell or damn.

Anyone familiar with the movie Back to the Future will remember George McFly's conversation with Marty about stopping Biff from making a move on Lorraine:

Marty: OK, so 9 o'clock you're strolling through the parking lot, you see us struggling in the car, you walk up, you open the door and you say... your line, George! George: Oh, uh, hey you, get your damn hands off her. Do you really think I ought to swear? Marty: Yes, definitely, ...dammit George, swear.

It is said that the South would not have been bested in the Civil War without the aid of cuss-prone mule drivers to the Union army. Mules were much more durable and reliable in war-like conditions, compared to the horses often used by the Rebel Army. From Hard Tack and Coffee, written by John D Billings (1877):

The theory has been advanced that if all the (muledrivers) in the Army of the Potomac could have been put into the trenches and safely advanced to within ear-shot of the enemy, and then set to swearing at their level worst, the Rebels would have either surrendered or fled... General Grant has given them credit for being able to swear a mule team out of the mud when it could not be moved by any other process.

So while I appreciate what McKay is doing with his No Cussing Club, I don't think I'm going to join. Granted, cussing is not something to be thrown around willy-nilly, but the words exist for a reason. Just ask General Grant.