It was a gentler time. Sweet tea with dinner, catholic school retreats, and a ban on politics when it came to polite company.
But kids will be kids will be kids. And they’re often funny as hell.
“That night at dinner, I waited until we were all seated at the table. I looked over at my mother, who was usually the last one to start her meal, and I popped the question.
‘What does F.U.C.K. mean?’ It was simple, logical, unemotional, and stated as a matter of fact. I had no reason to fear or be ashamed of the question, or apprehensive of the answer.
Until my mother dropped her fork, turned beet-red, and stared over at Dad for moral support. He grinned widely; I will never forget the look, and said, ‘Go ahead, tell her, Mom’.
She died in 1980 at the age of 53. I never received her answer.”