What the Hell

“‘Ohmygosh’ is a good word,” Max announces from the back seat of my car. 

Max is four. His world is black and white, right and wrong, good and bad. Nonetheless I am surprised. His moral pronouncement has no context. Completely out of the blue. He has my attention. 

It is time for a teaching moment.

“Yes, you’re right,” I say. “It is a good word.” I am tempted to explain that the phrase is not one word, but actually three words. But I resist. 

Instead I say, “Max, you you do need to be careful. There is another phrase that sounds almost the same that you should not say.” 

Then I give him a simple discourse of the third commandment, emphasizing a loving Father in Heaven who does not wish His name to be taken in vain.

Max takes it all in. He is serious and silent. 

On the other hand, sixteen-month-old Alex wants to add to the conversation. 

“Vroom, vroom, vroom,” he says from his car seat. 

Alex must have finished his donut, I think. Which gives me about five more minutes before he starts screaming to get out of his carseat.

I quickly take advantage of my five minutes’ peace—I start running through my preflight mental checklist. Note to self: do not plan a flight three hours after Monday morning carpool duty.

Then Max speaks up again. Our conversation is not yet over.

“‘Whatthehell’ is not a good word, Granma. We can’t say, ‘Whatthehell.’”

“Max,” I say, ready for another lesson.

But he is not to be interrupted. 

“‘Whatthehell’ is not a good word to say, right? I don’t want to say, ‘Whatthehell.’ Granma, you don’t say ‘Whatthehell,’ do you?” 

Were he an older child, the cadence of the phrase or the sheer naughtiness of it would have led to his repetition. But Max is only four. He is merely clarifying, and his timing is impeccable, for I cannot laugh. My attention is focused on merging onto 287 at 65 miles an hour. 

After a minute, when I am well established in the flow of traffic, I reply, “No, Max. I do not say those words.” And then add, “I am so proud of you, Max. You know what words you should not say.” 

 

I am curious. Where has he heard that phrase? Not from me. I abandoned cussing twenty-five years ago when my son Daniel was around the same age as Max and parroted my every word. And I know a cuss word has never escaped Pop Pop’s lips. I just can't imagine Max has picked the phrase up on his preschool playground. 

I am about to ask. But Max has moved on. He is now listing all the video games his brother Marshall plays. 

And so our teaching moment has come, and now it has passed. 

Oh, What the hell, I think (but would never say). I’ll just let it go.