Muldo

As Bill Cosby once said between licks off his pudding pop, kids say the darndest things.  During my childhood, the darndest of them all was when I referred to my grandmother (I call her Nonnie) using a word normally reserved for women who fuck for money.

After overhearing someone jokingly say to my mother “hey, you’re a hooker” at a friendly gathering in 1988, I thought it was a normal part of the lexicon to be used in every day conversation.  Though I was only 5-years-old, I was able to tell by the tone and the way it was used that it was an insult.  While it would take a few more years to find out the true meaning, that didn’t stop me from using it days later.

It was a typical summer day in Clairton, Pennsylvania.  I was running around like a brat and Nonnie was chasing me around the house with a wooden spoon, the weapon of choice for an Italian punishing a child. 

She caught up to me since I was a good 3 years from being able to outrun her and began swinging the spoon as hard as she could with her arthritis laden hands.  As the pain and anger grew inside me, I screamed at her.  Then I remembered what I had heard several days prior.

“Stop it, you hooker!” I yelled.
“What did you say to me?” Nonnie said.  She stopped hitting me, taken aback.
“You’re a hooker,” I repeated.

I don’t remember the look on her face, but I imagine it was a mixture of shock, anger, and humor that a 5 year old uttered that word. 

“Where did you hear that?” she asked.
“I heard someone call mommy that.”
“That’s a very bad word.  Don’t say that again.”

Later on that evening, my mom had a heart to heart explaining that a hooker was a woman who does bad things and to never say that word.

And to this day, I never use it.  I’ll only describe women as sluts, whores,  bitches, cunts, hos, strumpets, trollops, floozys, harlots, and streetwalkers.  But never hookers.  I’m a good son.