Oh, I’m getting old. It isn’t the content that I’m worried about, besides the fact that I’m a little achier than I used to be. Mostly, I’m still 25 in my head. No, it is the actual counting of years. I say things and remember things that young people have absolutely no idea what I’m speaking about. Or flip that around. They say things and do things, and I have no idea what it means.
Just yesterday, something popped up on the news. I can’t even remember the story. But out it came. Right out of my mouth. I said, “Now what in Sam’s Hill?”
It stopped me right there in the kitchen. I hadn’t said that in a long time. And as I reflected, I could not even say who Sam Hill was, or was not. I had to look it up. Sam Hill is not a person. Well, that’s not true. I am sure there have been plenty of Sam Hills on the planet. But none of them are responsible for the saying. You see, Sam is short for Samael, the Hebrew name of the Fallen Angel, better known as Satan. And Hill, the variation, “nicer” form of Hell. So, what in Sam’s Hill, is actually, what in Satan’s Hell, or “What in the hell?”
There are a lot of old swear words. Like Son of a Gun. It is very hard to determine the origins of this, according to the etymologists. A milder take on Son of a Bitch, is the most common translation. There is an American urban myth about the phrase. It originally came from a story in the October 7, 1864 issue of The American Medical Weekly. It was all about a woman impregnated by a bullet that went through a soldier’s testicles and into her womb.
Well, the whole story was a joke written by Dr. Legrand G. Capers. But you know how people huddle around conspiracy. Some people thought the story was real and reported it as true. Hence, Son of a Gun. The television show MythBusters actually used this in a segment. They conducted experiments and showed the story as implausible. Now I didn’t see the show, but I wonder where they got the volunteers to be shot in the testicles and the womb.
My Mom used to say, “Son of a Seabiscuit.” I have no idea about this one, other than the reference to the famous racehorse. Every so often, I let that one slip.
Two that I’ve never used, or have known anyone in my family to use, are Dadgummit and Tarnation. They seem more old-timey Western to me. Although, when I moved to Preble County, I would hear them sometimes.
There were actually a lot of them. Call them what you will — dadgummit, dagnabbit or goldarnit — those pseudo swear words were just technicalities in getting around the second commandment about “taking the Lord’s name in vain.” Just simple replacements of the first part with “God” and the second part with “damnit.”
Tarnation just kind of warped from Darnation, and that from Damnation. Or my favorite — 101 Dalmations.
When I was a kid, I thought I was pretty clever when I would use the old H-E-double-hockey-sticks. I’d never do it in front of my parents, or tattling sisters. But when my little friends and I were feeling especially raucous, I’d bring out the old H-E-double-hockey sticks.
Like drunken sailors, we were.
These days, I don’t do much swearing. But there seems to be an awful lot of worthy reasons to, as of late. If I can keep my wits about me, in the moment, I try to wish the person peace, or say, “blessings to you.” I typically do it in my mind because saying out loud may cause more aggravation. And from there, I hope it goes where it will go. Dadgummit.
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“The limits of my language means the limits of my world.”
― Ludwig Wittgenstein
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“Because without our language, we have lost ourselves. Who are we without our words?”
― Melina Marchetta, Finnikin of the Rock
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“Anyone can speak Troll. All you have to do is point and grunt.”
― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
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Well, I swear. Like an old person.
