If you see Kay – hold the salt

If you see Kay – hold the salt

“Dad, he just said ‘fuck’,” Chick unfurled his tongue during the quietest part of Mass.

“Holy shit, don’t swear like that Chick, especially in here. Oh crap, I just swore. Fuck!”

Chunks of ceiling started crashing down around us, amid an almig

hty roar and rumble. A large rock smashed the pew in half and we were propelled head first through the stained-glass windows.

The dark clouds above us were swirling like silver silk around white marble. A lightning bolt splintered a tree beside our wet, bloodied bodies, setting it on fire.

“See, look what you did! We’re in so much trouble, we’re all going to hell now,” I screamed over the thunder and pelting rain, blood pouring from my lacerated forehead.

“Yes Chick, a place where there are no Trash Packs, no lollies and school every day for eternity.”

We stood up and calmly followed the congregation out to the front lawn as the service finished, where the men collected a biscuit and ran after their mates.

The boys test me with rapid swearword fire regularly. It’s a button we all, I’m sure, press with our parents.

I was brought up on fire and brimstone, men turning into pillars of salt, et cetera. I try and lower the sodium levels and tell the boys swearing reduces their intellect and makes for lazy language.

A more sinister peril of children swearing is that it increases grandparents berating parents. Now that’s the kind of living hell I definitely want to avoid.

According to grandparents, the world has become bereft of manners and children doing ‘children’ things.

“C’mon boys — let’s go!” I yelled above the noise of kids running mad, high on pent-up church boredom.

“Hurry the hell up,” I said to myself.

“Oh, Dad, you just said hell.”

I closed my eyes and unlocked the car, letting steam come out of my eyeballs in private.

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