They don’t swear. I don’t swear in public (mostly), and I never swear at them.
But if I drop a can on my toe, you can bet I am not saying, “Oh GEEZ.”
My mother swore. Often. And colorfully. They are strange and fond memories, listening to her swear the leaves that would build up in the city gutters, or hearing her curse out someone who was unkind to the elderly or a child. I was embarrassed AND proud. My mom didn’t (and doesn’t) take shit off of no one. She taught me to be fair, tough, and not mince words; not verbally dance around what is important.
Living is DC to taught me to not mistake “proper” language for morals, strength, erudition, or sincerity. Some of the most under-handed behaviors come from the most curse-free people (politicians?), and well, I ain’t buying it.
Where I grew up, adults peppered their language with words, phrases, and stories that would make a sailor blush. I picked up a good bit of it. It didn’t stop me from becoming an English major, a teacher, a counselor, a coach, and a public speaker. And yes, I curse when I speak (to right crowd and in the right story, it is crucial).
I call ’em as I see ’em, and sometimes that is with an F-bomb. I have tried to stop, and it hasn’t worked. So, I am embracing my swearing, Goddammit.