"Are you sure you want to say that word?" doesn't get heard inside my head in the nanoseconds just before it's launch. There isn't a loud enough safety to stop me from saying it and sometimes I just laugh at the word and it's social construct so hardily that it brings me to tears.
I remember a time growing up when I heard my own Father use the f-bomb and the accompanying sign language or symbolic representation that is universally known. The Green Beret Colonel, man of steel and integrity and grace as an officer and a gentleman, showing his under belly and his humanity. Shock and amazement, awe and wonder! It was delivered in such a heavy angry tone. This was the first time I recognized my Father as a sexual creature, somehow showing his sexuality in the expression of a word so taboo. I now look back and confidently knew he dropped the f-bomb throughout his life and his life away from us kids. I can imagine him during the Vietnam era using a daily diet of the f-bomb yet, never using it at home. No, that would mean that he would admit to being a sexual creature, despite the evidence of him fathering five children miraculously. Especially never in the presence of women and children. Super hero power!You know ladies never say the f-bomb. Women confident in their language mastery have plenty of other words to use instead of the f-bomb. Masked in linguistic skill and religious and social constraints. One can never admit the comprehension to the word, the word that defines our knowledge of our true sexuality. Growing up my mother never ever said the f-bomb. How she held it back while raising five kids nearly alone as a military wife and especially in foreign countries and among strange languages. Raised on an Ohio farm during the depression. The youngest of four children, my Mother had a saying that still resonates to this day, "if you don't have anything nice to say, then don't say anything at all!". She certainly didn't acknowledge her ability to articulate her sexuality. My parents were perfectly paired in their era. It wasn't until I became an adult did I ever hear my mother drop the f-bomb. I am sure it was part, awareness and part her reaching comfort in her maturity that the f-bomb even was able to surface.
As time passes we can learn to explore the f-bomb. Much like exploring our very own sexuality. Using it in different settings, under different circumstances and in diverse company. Do we allow it launch to define us as a person, worthy or not, capable of being and doing differently? I say not. The best part about the f-bomb now is that that one word in the English language has the complexity of a masterpiece, in the right hands it can bring smiles and in the wrong hands it can elicit powerful fear.
The bomb handler, is a delicate job. Each of us knows that how it has to be handled and delivery requires the skill of a technician deftly bringing timing, geographic, demographics and purposefulness into mastery. Yet even the young f-bomb handler can recall a mishandling event in their timeline and journey. I remember laughing hysterically, almost peeing in my pants at moments when I or a close friends dropped the bomb in the most auspicious way. The reaction and delivery brought us to our knees. At the moment it was powerful and precise. Like a true bomb, that brought us great joy and bliss. It wasn't slighted with shame or the deep dark taboo of sexual symbolism in our minds, although it may have well been shamefully taboo to the audience surrounding us. The f-bomb has no sense of stoicism or reverence. It is just what it was designed to be, without pretense and posturing. Raw, real and deeply human. Allowing the sensuality of its meaning to deliver more than the human condition can comprehend in its limited role. The limited role of repressed and shamed. The power of one word strikes the world to it's core and brings humanity to even the greatest superhero! Oh yes, and by the way, welcome to earth and our own humanity!
