It was a good verb. It had a single use with a clear meaning that described a most pleasurable act. It was like a sacred word that could never be uttered aloud in public. God forbid that it would ever be used by a teenager in front of parents. Then it all changed. Somehow this verb morphed into a Noun, Pronoun, Verb, Adjective, Adverb, Preposition, Conjunction, and Interjection that breaks all of the rules of grammar. it became the Swiss Army Knife of words. Another good word to describe this verb is ubiquitous. It’s everywhere. So popular that it has its own abbreviation that is immediately recognized. WTF is happening to our language?
While I haven’t given in to the frequent, indiscriminate, and public use of the word, it doesn’t annoy that part of me that was shaped in a generation that viewed that word as an obscenity. In fact, I’ve even used it occasionally. We have to make some compromises with the future, don’t we?
In a recent conversation with a dear friend, I was making excuses for not starting an important project. I said it wasn’t the right time. She replied, “What do you mean it’s not the right time? You’re fucking 80 years old!” I’ll have to admit that the statement would have lost some of its impact without the ubiquitous “F” word.
That statement has become my silent mantra. It appears silently and privately every now and then to remind me that time is running out. It appeared in full force at my weekend Writer’s Room Retreat in Santa Fe last week. A Black woman made a stirring speech about reaching a point in her life where she was no longer apologizing for being Black. That resonated with me because I struggled with being ashamed of my age.
The next speaker asked us to take our name tag that was attached to a lanyard. On the back of the tag, at the top, were the words, “I am a.” At the bottom, was the word, “writer.” There were three blank spaces between, and we were asked to fill in those spaces with three words that would describe us as a writer. There was a silent work period as we all struggled to find our words.
Then, we were asked to come up on the stage, one at a time, and share our statement in front of 500 people. Yes, it took a long time, and those of us toward the end had a long time to stress about it. When my time came, I stepped on the stage, took the microphone, and said, “I am a fearless, curious, and empathetic writer. Similar to what the others had said. I paused for a moment and said, “I’m fucking 81 1/2 years old. I’m proud of it, and I’m not apologizing for it.” All 500 people broke into a loud cheer and applause. Quite a breakthrough for an old guy stuck in the traditional use of language.
I've come to realize that language, like life itself, evolves and adapts with time. While I once held that certain words were sacred and best left unspoken in public, I've learned that language, like ourselves, must make room for change. The transformation of that once-taboo verb into a versatile and ubiquitous presence in our speech is a testament to the fluidity of our linguistic landscape. It serves as a reminder that, as we age, we must also adapt and embrace the shifting tides of the world around us.