SAYING BAD WORDS [WARNING: BAD LANGUAGE PRETTY CLEARLY SPELLED-OUT]

There  is  one  circumstance  where,  to  this  day,  I  reserve  to  myself  the  "right"  to  say  bad  words,  and  that  is  when  I  am  driving,  and  another  driver  does  something  stupid  that  almost  causes  an  accident.

My  most  memorable  case  of  this  was  at  an  intersection  in  Haddonfield,  New  Jersey,  years  ago,  who  I  was  returning  from  trying  a  case  in  Superior  Court  in  Camden.

I  was  relaxedly  driving  within  the  speed  limit  south  on  West  End   Avenue  toward  Kings  Highway  in  Haddonfield,  intent  on  making  the  quick  right/left  down  Chews  Landing  Road/Temporary  41   toward  Barrington,  when  I  came  up  to  the  intersection  of  West  End  Avenue  and  Euclid  Street,  where  cars  in  Euclid  must  stop  for  a  stop  sign.

Right  in  front  of  me,  a  car  going  west  on  Euclid  --  from  my  left  to  my  right  --  went  through  his  stop  sign  and  the  driver,  realizing  his  error,  slammed  on  his  brakes,  stopping  dead  in  front  of  my  car  as  I  drove  toward  him.

My  brain  jumped  into  "Emergency  Mode."    I  turned  sharp  right,  driving  up  onto  the   sidewalk  on  the  southwest  corner  of   West  End  Avenue  and  Euclid,  to  avoid  killing  the  other  driver.   My  car's  undercarriage  slammed  into  the  curb  there  with  a  terrifying  bang.  Sparks  flew.

My  car's  momentum  carried  me  into  Euclid,  toward  oncoming  traffic  there.

Again,   my  brain  jumped  into  "Emergency  Mode."    I  turned  hard  left,  jumped  the   southern  curb  of  Euclid  Avenue,    and  rode  my  car  up  the  front  lawn  of  the  house  with  the  open  porch  there,  to  avoid  killing  someone   in   the  oncoming  traffic  on  Euclid.  My  bumper   ju-u-u-ust   touched  the  front   porch   of  the  house  there.

I  was  shaking  with  fear  and  anger,  as  I  sat  in  the  driver's  seat  of  my  car.  I  decided  not  to  get  out,  for  fear  of  punching  that  idiot  on  Euclid  Avenue  who  went  through  the  stop  sign,  and  getting  myself  arrested.

Instead,  I  turned  left  in  my  seat,  and  looked  at  the  other  driver   through  the  window.    He  turned  left  and  looked  at  me.

THE  OTHER  DRIVER  WAS  THE  SUPERIOR  COURT  JUDGE  PRESIDING  IN  THE  TRIAL   I  HAD  JUST  FINISHED  IN  CAMDEN !!!

I  didn't  give  a  damn.  I  was  so  angry,    I  looked  at  him  with  all  of  the  evil  of  Hell   and  mouthed  the  words,  "You  f - - - - - g  stupid  son  of  a   b - - - h !!!"   Ooooooooooh,  was  I  angry !!!

The  judge  meekly  acknowledged  his  fault,  and   drove  off.



Aside  from  such  instances,  I  have   done  my  best  to  control  the   "evil  tongued"  aspect  of  my  personality.

I  did  it  by  awarding  to  my  children,  and  then  to  the  little  Vietnamese  girl   whom  we  babysat  on  weekends,  the  right  to  collect  a  dollar  from  me   for  every  bad  word   that  came  out  of  my  mouth.    This    motivated  them  to  monitor  my  speech  for  bad  words  with  incredible  alacrity.  It  was  more  profitable  then  allowance.

Pete  drops  a  glass  drying  dishes,  and  it  splatters  everywhere.    "Ah,  s - - t!"    I  would  exclaim.

"$1,  Dad!"

Pete  stubs  his  right  baby  toe  going  into  the  kids'  room  to  do  prayers  and  story  before  bed,  and  there's  blood  all  over.  Pete  says, "Ooooooooooooooh,    F - - k!"

TWO  boys  each  say,  "$1,  Dad."

I'm  coming  out  of  a  Shoprite  food  store  with  little  Nhu,  my  Vietnamese  "daughter,"    and  I  see  that  some  idiot  driver,  parked  next  to  me,  has   made  a  very  big  ding  in  the  driver  side  door.    ""S - - t!"  I  exclaim.

"You  owe  me  a  dollar,  Mr.  Peter!"  would  be  her  enthusiastic  response.

"Damn!"  I  would  comment.

"$2,  Mr.  Peter!"  she  would  triumphantly  counter.



The  really  interesting  episode  connected  with   bad  language  was  as  follows.

All  three  of  my  sons  went  to  Our  Lady  of  Grace  Catholic  Regional  School  in  Somerdale,  New  Jersey.  The  nuns  and  lay  teachers  there  prepared  our  sons  for  the  receipt  of  the  sacraments.  Training  for  the  Sacrament  of  Reconciliation  preceded   all  else,  after  their  Baptism.

The  school  sent  home  an  instruction  to  the  parents,  asking  them  to  help  the  children  examine  their  consciences  for  purpose  of  making  their  First  Confession.

One  of  my  children  --  I  won't  say  who  --  was  "in  a  real  big  sweat"   trying  to  think  of  some  "sin"  that  he  could  confess  in  his  First  Confession.

Finally,  he  said  to  me,  "Dad,  is  saying  bad  words   a  sin?"

I answered,  "Yes."

He  said,  "GOOD!"

All  of  a  sudden,  he  had  the  "ammunition"  he  needed  to  get  though  his  First  Confession.

And  he  gave  his  First  Confession  to  Father  Bob  Cairone  at  St.  Gregory's.

And  Fr.  Cairone  said,  "Pete,  he  did  fine!"