I once cursed a blue streak (conversational voice level, inside my car with windows rolled up, she never knew) at this lady who drove like an idiot. It was all in spanish except that I did say “fucking” in english at some point. The boy spent the rest of the trip just saying “fuckingfuckingfuckingfucking”
In the supermarket years ago we walked past this rather large lady, sprog stops and points and shouts out at the top of his lungs “TITS”
He was 4 years old
My buddy gave my then one year old nephew a little plastic dinosaur. He decided to name it “Fuck”. He carried it everywhere, and talked about it often.
The [del]monster[/del] child I babysit has taught my daughter “Caca”, which they both repeat and giggle uproariously over. When I asked him what it meant, however, I got a total blank face. He really has no idea. They just like the sound of it, I guess. I’m trying really hard not to flinch when I hear it. It’s not because it’s scatological, it just sounds…trashy.
When the VunderKind was about 2, my wife spent a week or so in the hospital, and he would spend the day with his grandparents while I worked.
One evening, we all went together to see VWife, and ended up going as a pack to the gift shop. When the elevator doors opened, there were the pet therapy people and their critters waiting for our elevator. VunderKind spotted the Irish Wolfhound, his eyes were quite literally :eek:, and he said “Ho-jee shit! That’s a big dog!”
The rest of us looked at each other and said in unison, “You’ve been spending too much time with Papaw…”
Setup: I have four sisters (all older than me, not very relevant); two of them are gay. One day, we were in the car on the way to pick up my oldest daughter. My (then) youngest daughter was about 7. She started asking questions about her Aunt B, like, is she ever going to get married? So I explained to her that Aunt B is gay, and that means she doesn’t love men, she loves women. I said that she wouldn’t get married, but she already has M, whom she loves very much (at which point, even a 7-year-old observed that it’s stupid that Aunt B can’t marry M, just because they’re both girls). Anyway, I answered her questions, in an age-appropriate way, the best I could. When we finally got to where my oldest daughter was, and the oldest got in the car, the youngest looked at her and said: “Did you hear about Aunt B? She is so gay!”
Cracked us all right up.
Because of a packed schedule and various other circumstances, my brother ended up having to take my three-year old niece and her one year old brother to a visitation with him (a co-workers grandmother had died.) On the way there, my brother was explaining to niece the appropriate behavior he expected. He told her that it would be nice if she said, “I’m sorry” to the bereaved. Niece says, “But I didn’t do it, Daddy!”
I used to babysit for a friend’s 2 and a half year old a lot. One day we went for a walk in the woods and picked up sticks, pine cones etc as we went and then headed back into town. Lil Bruce was exclaiming over the rather large stick he’d found. Unfortunately he couldn’t quite pronounce the ‘st’ sound yet and instead substituted ‘d’.
All the way through town with a toddler yelling ‘I’ve got a big dick!’ is amusing.
Have you seen those pools that are free-standing once you fill them with water? They’re about 8 feet by 12 feet & 3 feet deep. They have their own filter & cover. My sister & her husband invested in one last year. At the end of the season, they emptied it and very carefully stored it in the back shed. This year, when they pulled it out, my brother-in-law proceeded to go into a 10-minute, very loud rant about “fucking chipmunks” and the waste of fur they are. Now, anytime anyone mentions a pool, my 4-year old nephew tells the tale of the pool they once had & the “fucking chipmunks” who ate it.
When my son was 5 and in kindergarten, every Friday he’d home a folder that had a bunch of his work for the week, and stapled inside the front of the folder was a behavior calendar. Every day a child was good, they’d get a teddy bear stamp. My son’s sheet was filled with teddy bear stamps all year, except for one memorable week when it read:
Teddy bear – teddy bear – “D. said the F word on the playground today” – teddy bear – teddy bear.
:eek:
I promptly called the teacher to assure her he had not learned that word at home, and she just laughed about it and assured me he had definitely picked it up on the playground. She was a fun teacher; at the beginning of the year, she sent home a note to each parent saying, “I promise not to believe what your child tells me about you if you’ll promise not to believe what they tell you about me!”
Chasing my youngest around the house during an energetic, weekend game of tag, I backtracked around the kitchen, came out the other side and caught the wee two-year old in nothing flat.
The millisecond I came into sight and she knew she was had: “Oh, shit!”
Hey, she used it in the correct context. 
In more humiliating news, the eldest StormKid recently pointed out a nearby woman’s “HUGE ass!!”
Whereas, the middle StormKid has been content to blurt out, “Penis!” to get a reaction (with none forthcoming) and giggle madly until she has to dash to the bathroom before the bladder gives way.
Yes, we all know “penis” isn’t a ‘naughty’ word. I’ve never taught her that it was a naughty word, she just gets a kick out of it. Don’t know why. Probably because it makes her brother laugh like a hyena.
At my cousin Marc’s wedding two weeks ago, my other cousins and I were discussing old family stories and such. And I brought up the fact that it amuses me when people nowadays complain about how kids learn such bad language on tv.
WE didn’t learn it that way-or even hear that kind of language on television. Nope, we all learned it from Gramma. She had a vocabulary that would make a teamster blush. She was an extremely devout Catholic-a very religious woman. But all of us learned every swear word you can find from her.
Of course, there was one exception. The youngest, Amanda.
One Christmas Eve, when she was two, Aunt Katie and Uncle Bill and Amanda were there for dinner. Amanda knocks over her juice at the table.
“Aw thit!” Hehehe. The next day, Tina and I were trying to get her to repeat it. “Say ‘shit’, Amanda. Say ‘fuck you’.” Oh, that was fun.
Then there was the time Marc and I were sitting in the back of my parents’ car, dropping F bombs right and left. My parents didn’t say a word. Then we got back to my house, where upon my mother proceded to frog march us into the bathroom, and wash our mouths out with a bar of soap.
You wouldn’t believe the little phrase I inadvertently caught when I was a kid.
There was a game called Wolfenstein 3D I was rather fond of as a child. Some of you may remember it - it involves hunting and killing various monsters and Nazis. When you killed the Nazis, one of the things they would shout as they died was “Heil Hitler!”
(OK, you can probably see the horrible place this is going)
So one day we were in a department store with my mom and as I was mucking around I decided it would be fun to repeat the phrase “Heil Hitler!” at a nice loud volume in the middle of the store. Of course, I had no idea what it meant, I just knew that they said it a lot in my favorite game. My mother quickly and very embarrasedly hushed me and told me that we don’t say that. I shrugged it off with a confused “whatever”, but when I finally did learn what that meant I flashed back and had my own moment of retrograde embarassment.
You could write a country song about it.
Oops - already been done 
http://www.rodneyatkins.com/main/index.php?module=htmlpages2&func=display&pid=5
VCNJ~
My 3-yr-old son is a fairly enthusiastic kid. When he’s really excited about a notion or plan, he’ll do a Lucy Ricardo hand clap as he makes his pitch (the way she used to say “Tellya what I’m gonna do”), and close by pumping his little fist in the air as he shouts the key word.
So we’re in the grocery store the other day during Old Fogey Afternoon, when it’s safe to bring pre-schoolers because the grandmas and grandpas love to tease and talk to them. Over in the dairy aisle, bunch of people standing around sneaking peeks at the little cuties, I asked the twins if there was anything I’d forgotten, anything we’d run out of.
“Oooh!” (clap!) “I know what we need!” says my son. Fist pump, from the shoulder "Beer!!"
This is a horribly embarrassing story; it concerns an event which I fervently wish had never happened. I apologize in advance about this. Anyway, back when I was a semi-hippie VW mechanic, I lived with a woman who had a son; the boy was somewhere between one and two years old at the time, IIRC. I worked for a VW dealer where a couple of German WWII veterans were employed as mechanics. In spite of everything anyone could do, the two of them had a horrible prejudice against Jews and often referred to them as G__D___Jews. I and another guy had a very serious fight with them one day and I was still boiling when I arrived at home; the woman asked what was wrong and I told her. Unfortunately, I quoted their favorite epithet; even more unfortunately, her son heard it and took it to heart. It was about two or three days later when we first realized just how much he had taken it to heart. We were shopping in a supermarket; the kid was riding in the basket and he suddenly began shouting that very epithet; the more we tried to hush him, the worse it got. We finally abandoned a cart full of groceries and fled the place; I seriously thought we would have to fight our way out given the hostile looks and comments we received. Needless to say, we never went back to that store; happily the kid never repeated the words again. It certainly taught me to watch my mouth around children. I still blush every time I remember that day.
My first word was ‘shit’. I didn’t believe my parents, but they insisted that this was true. I was banging’ away with one of those toy workshops where you tap the shapes into the corresponding shapes into the board. Well I hit my thumb pretty good with the hammer and exclaimed, “shit!” 
Thanks mom!
I wasn’t going to tell this story since she’s a poster here, but whiterabbit insisted I should, so let it be on her head.
I thought I watched my language around her when she was little – until the day she was 2 or 3 and dropped something, and out of her sweet little mouth came, “Oh, cwap!” So from that point I really watched my language.
MissGypsy, I find it very amusing that it’s only the insults and swears that your kid seems to be repeating… Maybe he understands what they mean a bit more than you think.
My parents like to tell the story where, when I was about 2 or 3, I was playing with a set of building blocks and accidentally knocked the tower over, and promptly saying “Dammit!” After which, my parents realized there was a need to watch their language a bit more carefully. 
(Which didn’t last very long, I might add…)
When my son was about 2 we were walking through a department store. We ran into some old friends who had a particularly ugly daughter with them. As we were talking to them my son pointed at their daughter and said Doggie.