Friday Morning Latin Lesson, Vol. CI

Oh, what a week.  I had to do some of that "parenting" thing that's expected of me.  Apparently, if you sire the children, you're expected to raise and discipline them.  What the hell fun is that?  None, says this very grumpy old man.

Anyway, I was putting the kids on the bus on Wednesday morning when the bus driver pointed at me like she needed to speak with me, and then pointed at the boy, indicating that it was about him.  Or that's what I interpreted it as, anyway.  I stepped closer to the door and she then informed me that my seven-year-old son had, on the previous day, been "cussing up a storm."

Oh really?  Do go on!

My son, of course, burst out into tears.  Because he's seven.  But, you know, a seven-year-old with a sailor's mouth.  I wonder where the fuck he learned that (hint:  it's college football season).

I get the boy calmed down and tell him to sit and then I reassure the bus driver that I would take care of it.  She continues to go on, telling me that it was his first warning and the next time he'd be off the bus and then reiterated that he had been "cussing up a storm" and that he was mad at his sister or something (this is key for later) and that she heard "every word in the book."

At this point, I'm kind of annoyed and the first thing that I wanted to say was "Did he say 'cunt'?  Because that's certainly in the book."  And then as she continued on, my next thought was "Look, it's not a big deal.  It's a string of letters that you have assigned an arbitrary meaning to which just happens to be one that offends you and your religious tenets based on the mythology of a wandering tribe of escaped slaves formulated over four thousand years ago."

Somehow, though, I didn't think that the bus driver would have understood what I said, nor would she have appreciated it.

Finally, she closed the door and was off.  I then let this percolate through the day in the back of my mind and I decided it would be totally hypocritical of me to punish him for something I say every thirty-four seconds on football Saturdays.  I got home that evening and sat him down for a good talking to; I refused to yell at him, though, because, you know, hypocrite and all.

Basically I told him that we live in an area where a lot of people get easily offended by words like that and if he's going to say bad words, he should do it where people aren't going to hear him and get upset.  Because I remember being in the second grade.  I remember learning a whole new lexicon.  The kid's going to say it, whether I tell him to or not.

I also said that he shouldn't let his sister bother him like that and cause him to get upset to where he's yelling out swear words.  At this, he got defensive.  "Why would I call her a BEEEEEEEP?  She's my sister!"

At which point the two stories did not seem to line up.  Later that same evening, my wife came home and said, "Yes, he got in trouble for saying 'bitch' on the bus."

Oh really?  He got in trouble for "bitch"?  That's "every word in the book?"  What kind of fuck-knuckle thinks that "bitch" constitutes every word in the book?  Two things happened then:  one, I felt better about the talking-to I gave the lad, telling him to be smart and strategic with his curses and oaths; and two, I became really fucking annoyed with the bus driver.  I realize that "bitch" is not the first word you expect to hear coming from a seven-year-old's mouth, but don't fucking make it out like he was doing a George Carlin routine.

I thought maybe I should teach the boy how to swear in a foreign language, so that he would get in less trouble.  While French or Spanish or German would be more practical--and hard hitting; every word in German sounds like swearing--perhaps we should with Latin first.

That almost wasn't a hamfisted segue...

Edite verpas, fututrices!  Proficiscor!

Pronounced:  "Ay-dee-tay ware-pahs, foo-too-tree-case!  Pro-fee-kee-score!"

Say what you want about the movie, this is one of my favorite Homer Moments.  Ever.  

Hovertext for the translation.

And now for the actual "lesson" part.  In a deliciously ironic twist, the word verpa that you see above is a slang (vulgar) Latin term for "the penis" and would most certainly be equivalent to our "dick" or "cock".  Or Pedro.  The funny thing is that verpa ends in an "a" and is therefore a first declension noun, and almost all first declension nouns are feminine.  As being a dick isn't really a job, verpa ends up being a feminine word.

The word fututrix, fututrices means "one who is fucked" and the -rix ending makes a female noun.  It is the Latin equivalent of "fucker" or (probably a better translation into modern usage) "bitch".  Though it is used as an insult, fututrix does not imply "whore", as you might be inclined to guess based on its literal translation.  But that's a Latin lesson for a different day.

Oh, and if you're curious, fututor is the male equivalent.  And the best application that I can think of is fututor matrum as "mother fucker" (literally "one who fucks mothers").

Anyway, pax fututores matrum.  Proficiscor!  Have a good weekend.

And Now for Something Completely Different

Normally, on Thursdays (or, normal for the past couple of months), I tell you about some bodily function of mine that makes for somewhat amusing reading. Today, however, I'm going in a slightly different direction.

Yesterday, my youngest started school. While he was in "school" last year, that was pre-school, so he was really just along for the ride and was there so that he could figure out how to act around other people. Turns out, he fits in with the monkey troupe just fine.

Anyway, yesterday he went to kindergarten. He's at a year-round school, and his staggered entry was yesterday and today. So, we all got up, got dressed, got ready and walked him to the bus stop. After what seemed like forever, the bus finally showed up. I walked him around the front and led him to the steps. He got on, sat down, and waved and then drove away.

Me? I'm cool. My wife was all sorts of nervous for him. But, it turns out, he was just fine. He didn't get in trouble. He didn't get upset. He didn't get lost. In fact, he found his room all by himself without anyone helping him. Though he did admit that the kraken kind of frightened him when the boats were taking his class across the lake.

Apparently, he got back on his bus without incident and was delivered home safely. He bounded off the bus and then pranced home. We were worried about this second part, since we didn't know what bus he needed to be on. However, the night before we sent him off to school, we got a phone call from one Dr. Jordan, who assured us that our "baby would get home just fine." Apparently, Dr. Jordan sounded a lot like Bubby from Flapjack.

My son had a good day, played hard and made two new friends, Zachary and Enya. He says that Zachary is cool, but the girl has a tendency to sing songs about rivers in South America.

This made me hearken back to the days of yore, when I first went to kindergarten. I was in the last kindergarten class at Union Elementary School (home of the Aces). I had to walk up the street to get to my bus stop, in front of Amy and Jamie Randol's house. I got on the bus, went to school, and I remember sitting at the head of my table. Little did they know they were feeding my megalomania from a young age.

I sat at the same table as two of my cousins, and the aforementioned Jamie Randol. I remember it distinctly because someone from the local paper came in and took my picture. I was sitting there, flashing a dinosaur picture I had just colored to my cousin Jennifer, who could have cared less. She was bent over coloring her own picture, probably of Raggedy-Ann. My cousin Jennifer fuckin' loved her some Raggedy-Ann. I still have a couple of pictures of me in kindergarten. Maybe I'll scan them in and share them on a day when I feel like being made fun of. Well, moreso than normal.

Contrast my first day of kindergarten (and my sons, if you must) with my younger brother's (sis never went to school). He got on the bus, went to school, and came home. My mom asked him how it went and he responded, "Fine, but I'm not going back." Ah, yes, certain trends in life are set on the first days of school. I had my arrogance sated and my brother...well...some things are better left unsaid.

I even remember my kindergarten teacher: Miss Brown. She lived up the street from me. Apparently, when they closed Union Elementary (home of the Aces), she went to teach somewhere other than where I went to school for the remainder of my elementary and middle high school days. In fact, I had no idea where she was, other than she wasn't anywhere near where I was.

Fast forward a few years to when I was a member of the Liberal Media. I was writing a column about the goings on in my home town for the county paper. While I would often report just the facts, ma'am, I would also poke a little fun at how little went on in the town on a weekly basis.

And then, one night, I got a phone call (my number was listed in the column as the way to get ahold of me and pass along gossip information news). It was my kindergarten teacher, Miss Brown!!! I was excited...for about five seconds. She told me what a good job I was doing and how she enjoyed reading my articles...and then she ripped into me for making fun of small town America. Apparently, she was living in Chicago (or the west side of Chicago) and missed her life in Small Town, USA. And now she was yelling at me about it.

I assured her that I would lighten up on the bumblefucks who lived in town. Then the next week, we had perhaps the most inept bank robbery in the history of mankind go awry and the drama played out on the streets of my hometown. That's a story for a different day, but my reporting on this again painted the town in a rubish light. While I never got another phone call, I could feel the seething anger coming from the northwest. Let it go, Miss Brown. Anger and hatred lead to the Dark Side.

There you have it. I'm now the father of two school-aged children, which might or might not be an indication of middle age. And since everything I know about middle age I learned from watching American Beauty...where's the high school chick with the enormous forehead? I gots me some lust to slap around.