Dear Mr. L
I’m writing to inform you that my mother has noted your disappointment with her occasional use of “obscenity” in her various bestselling books, including her most recent masterpiece “Oh No, Not the Home.” Your letter, (attached) along with a brief note from my mother, arrived in my inbox this morning.
Dear Michael,
Well, I guess it was bound to happen. I finally heard from someone who doesn’t like my writing. I’m not sure how to respond, but given the number of people that you’ve disappointed over the years with your own reliance on vulgarity and smut, I thought perhaps you might have some advice.
Much love,
Mom
Before we delve into my own reliance on “vulgarity and smut,” I want to say that Mom and I appreciate the time you took to express your disappointment. Moreover, we were both impressed by your grammar, spelling, sentence structure, and overall syntax. So many people these days, especially those who wish to offer the kind of gentle rebuke you have provided here, diminish their points with myriad mistakes. Not so with you. We were also impressed by the fact that you took the time to express your criticisms in a hand-written, cursive form. Not only is your penmanship legible, it appears on a piece of paper with no lines. And yet, your sentences remain neatly ordered and easy to read. That’s a real talent! We also noticed the way your carefully chosen words filled every square inch of the page, without a lot of unnecessary crowding at the very end. Another indication that this is not the first letter you’ve written to someone you’ve never met, to share your disappointment.
As for your primary concern – my mother’s purported penchant for obscenity – I can only tell you that the instances to which you refer do not reflect her actual vernacular – at least, not in a way that should cause offense to any grown-up. The fact is, my mother – like her mother before her – would never use bad language in the course of expressing her own thoughts. In fact, my mother and my grandmother positively deplored the crassness to which you object and they both criticized it whenever they encountered it. However, both women were far less scrupulous when quoting other people. And this is precisely what happens in most of my mother’s runaway bestsellers, including her latest triumph, “Oh No, Not the Home,” which can still be purchased in time for Christmas at mikerowe.com/momsbook.
As for my own reliance on “vulgarity and smut,” to which she so casually alluded, I believe my mother was referring to the many hundreds of letters I received twenty years ago that reminded her of yours. Letters from angry viewers who thought I was cursing on Dirty Jobs, when in fact, I was not.
The trouble began way back in Season 1, when a large rat jumped into my lap while I was filming in a sewer. In my surprise, I yelled, “Holy Crap!” before leaping to my feet, smashing my head on the top of the tunnel, and falling face-first into a river of filth.
Given the environment and the conditions, “Holy Crap” seemed a harmless and completely appropriate exclamation, but the network was concerned. They believed that the word “crap” might be offensive to a handful of their most sensitive viewers, so, they bleeped it out when the episode aired. Consequently, millions of viewers – including my mother – assumed that I had said something much worse. In fact, Mom called me immediately after that episode aired, demanding an explanation.
“Michael, why did you say “shit” on national television? What’s wrong with you? Don’t you know that “shit” is a bad word?”
“I do, Mom, but I didn’t use that word. What I said, was “crap.”
Mom was dubious. “Why would they bleep you for saying “crap?” Crap isn’t a bad word. Are you sure you didn’t say “shit? It sure looked like you said “shit.”
“I’m positive, Mom. I definitely said “crap.”
“But don’t they understand that bleeping “crap” makes everyone think that you’re really saying “shit?”
“I don’t know, Mom. All they told me is that every time I say “crap” they’re going to bleep me.”
“Great,” said Mom. “Everyone will think your father and I raised a son who says “shit” on national television. Do you have any idea how much crap we’re going to get at church this Sunday, from people who think you’re saying “shit?”
“Well then,” I said, “if they’re gonna bleep me every time I say “crap,” I guess I might as well say “shit.” Especially when I’m in a sewer and up to my neck in it.”
“Watch your mouth, Michael. “Shit” is a bad word. Please don’t say “shit.”
See what I mean, Mr. L?. My mother deplores crass language, and only uses it when she’s quoting other people directly or referring to the word itself. Please send your letter of apology to the same address, and have a wonderful holiday.
Warmly,
Mike Rowe
PS Her next book, “Seven Words You Can’t Say on the Shitter,” should be out later this year. You can reserve a copy today at mikerowe.com/momsbook.
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