Immigration 7: Profanity

Being a Russian immigrant in 1977 was tricky. With the cold war raging, any reference to The Soviet Union carried with it the stench of the "evil empire" that needed to be nuked. Overall, however, people looked upon us, the immigrants, kindly. We were "good" Russians, we escaped, we clawed our way out from under a horrible, oppressive regime.

Youngsters, however, didn't appreciate the daring escape my family made from the USSR, they only saw commies. As such, I quickly learned the word and its relationship to me, at least in my schoolmates eyes. Other than that, however, I was blissfully ignorant of any and all venomous comments.

By 1979, two years of assimilation into the American culture left me with a decent grasp of the English language. However, I still lacked the nuances, idioms, double meanings and colorful expressions that would have marked me as truly proficient. For two years I was fairly unaware as pre-teen girls and boys practiced their developing vocabularies on me. I say "fairly" because although I didn't understand the words, their body language, tone and facial expressions filled in the gaps; I didn't need to be told when kids were saying something nasty, but it was nice to miss out on the deeper meanings of the words. Of course this made me a boring target and in time I was simply ignored as the girl who didn't understand. As you can guess, that was bound to change.

At the end of 1979 two things happened. First was something my Mother calls "Quantity into Quality". The quantity of the profanities I heard heralded the quality of my understanding. The other was another move. My Dad found a good job which was out of state so my family had to pack up and leave again. This meant I was to switch schools, this time mid-year, but not only that, I was also to become a thickly accented new kid from "the evil empire" ill equipped at verbal self-defense. And so my nightmarish existence from 9am to 3pm Mondays through Fridays began.

It was hell. I don't think I've ever experience that level of internal agony before or since and I hope I never will again. This time I understood every vicious comment, every vulgar innuendo, every profane word in the book. I understood everything and couldn't say a word in response. Anyone who has ever witnessed a verbal duel knows that the finesse and speed of the attack, perry and counter attack makes for an impressive display of language skills. And although I could converse easily and understood most "colorful metaphors" I was no Errol Flynn of the verbal hallway battles. I was more the clumsy Friar Tuck. By the time a classmate had attacked, hit her mark and walked away, I was just figuring out what was said.

This time I wasn't boring. Whatever my attackers saw in my face, after every successful stab and slash, they liked, for their attacks became more severe and more regular. Their taunts and vulgar references to my family, my origins and my self have left scars upon my memory and my being. Each school day at every opportunity, for three years, they took words and linked them together into chains and lashed me with them because they could, because I was weak, because it was fun.

No, I do not like profanity. To me foul language is just that, foul. It takes me back to a place I'd rather not be. I do realize, however, that such expression has its place. Without vulgar words and phrases "Catcher in the Rye" would not be nor would "American Idiot" rivet us to our speakers. Great books, great films and great music just would not be the same without the exclamation point that is the profane word.

"The pen is mightier than the sword". It is true, the word is a weapon, a powerful one and as any weapon, a lot depends on those who wield it. From the mouths of those sadists in training, profanity was used to demean and in some ways destroy me, in the hands of J.D. Salinger such language made me think and Eddie Murphys use of profanity had me laughing until it hurt.

There's little out there that carries with it as much power as the words we speak, and as Spider-Man's Uncle Ben put it : "With great power comes great responsibility."