The Meanings of Words
By Erika Hoffman
“You’re a turd stuck in a butt crack!”
Having this epithet hurled your way might anger you, stun you, might make you retort with an equally graphic insult. On the other hand, it also might make you laugh.
Context is everything. There are many love languages. This can be part of one. If your grandson isn’t yet four, and his fascination with life zips between gazing awestruck at dinosaur skeletons in museums and jabbering about poop and body parts, then this appellation might be a term of endearment.
“Where did you hear that? At daycare?” I queried.
Zane shook his head no as he held the cell phone in front of his cute face as we facetimed.
“From a friend?” I asked.
“No.”
“From Owen, that five-year-old boy who told you not to sing songs from Frozen because they were girl songs?”
“No.”
“From TV? Do they say such stuff on Paw Patrol?”
“No.”
“I give up, Zane. Where did you hear that said?”
“Mommy.”
“Your mother calls people turds?”
Zane burst out laughing. I was surprised. I don’t like my daughter to use cuss words around her kids. I’ve never heard her use vulgarities. “Are you sure your mom called someone a turd stuck in a butt crack?”
He laughed again very taken with my surprised look.
“When did your mommy say this?”
“When she was changing Heidi’s diaper.”
“She said that there was a turd stuck in her butt crack?”
This question elicited peals of laughter from my grandson.
“Oh my!” I said and slapped my cheeks like the young Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone. “I’ll have to talk to her about such language.”
“Poopy! Poopy Ama.”
“Now you’re calling me ‘’Poopy?” He was in a fit of laughter. He could hardly catch his breath so taken was he with my reaction. There’s something about little kids’ fascination with bowel movements; they love to talk about them. Or maybe it’s just my family. I find it’s true of folks with German roots. I have noticed this. When I was 11, we visited Germany; we trekked in a VW van to the areas where my Bavarian ancestors hailed from.
One night, we stopped at a “Gasthaus” (inn) and the elderly female owner showed my mom a handmade, wooden diorama hung on the wall. Giggling in German, she asked my mom to open one of the little doors. Obliging, Mom did. We all beheld a little carved wooden man with britches sagging around his ankles bent over pooping into a pile of poop resembling the emoji. The old landlady heehawed at my mom’s horrified expression. Ever since then, I’ve wondered if Germans relish scatological humor as much as adolescents and toddlers. Is it in their DNA? And therefore, in mine?
Besides being amused at how tickled my grandson was at his calling me this nickname “poopy”, which created a shocked look on my face, I thought about language. I had a mini- epiphany: everything said or done has to be interpreted according to context. Insults aren’t really slights if the person saying them doesn’t understand their meaning or if they don’t deem it as a derogatory invective. No need to take offense or get on one’s high horse about nonsensical stuff.
For me, too, I thought about writing dialogue. I realized a lesson: dialogue needs clues to be understood or else it can be vastly misinterpreted. An author needs to set the stage so the reader can interpret the tone of any remark. For instance, when a Southerner calls someone a mess, it isn’t negative the way it’s meant if a Northerner calls a person a “mess.” And when a North Carolinian says, “Bless your heart,” watch out!
Ergo, if someone calls you a son-of-a-gun, a goober, a cracker, a local from Ypsitucky, or a turd stuck in a butt crack, understand the context and the source. Is it a term of affection? When you write characters’ dialogue, make certain you have given enough clues about the character’s personality, gender, age, education, and socio-economic standing so that the reader can understand the significance of the words uttered. Nuance rules. Relationships matter. Words take on connotations. Always look at the scene and put them in context.
When my beloved grandson regales me as a turd stuck in a butt crack, I hear: “I love you, Ama, and I like making you laugh.”
And I enjoy the slur as much as if he’d called me Mother Theresa.
Erika Hoffman writes nonfiction stories for Chicken Soup for the Soul, Sasee of Myrtle Beach, and other anthologies, ezines, and magazines. She’s a Duke University alumna, former teacher, wife, mother of four, and grandma of eight. Although she grew up in New Jersey, she’s spent her adult life in the South—Georgia and North Carolina. Erika has travelled to many countries and enjoys visiting them, appreciating their beauty and uniqueness, but is proud to call North Carolina her favorite venue.
Collections of her published stories and essays are on Amazon: Erika’s Take on Writing, My Sassy Life et al.
Erika Hoffman writes nonfiction stories for Chicken Soup for the Soul, Sasee of Myrtle Beach, and other anthologies, ezines, and magazines. She’s a Duke University alumna, former teacher, wife, mother of four, and grandma of eight. Although she grew up in New Jersey, she’s spent her adult life in the South—Georgia and North Carolina. Erika has travelled to many countries and enjoys visiting them, appreciating their beauty and uniqueness, but is proud to call North Carolina her favorite venue.
Collections of her published stories and essays are on Amazon: Erika’s Take on Writing, My Sassy Life et al.