My father liked to sail. My daughter was a sailor. I just swear like one.

I grew up in a household were there wasn't much swearing.

On occasion Dad may have called someone a "dumb shit," or a "big shit." But that's about it. I sure there were more instances when Dad did swear -- he wasn't a saint -- but I wasn't there to witness it. And Mom . . .  when she was mad, would yell at us in Dutch. None of us are certain what it was she said, but I'm guessing it wasn't something polite.

But all-in-all, swearing was not an option when we were growing up. Mom would not allow it. So we seldom, if ever, did.

So it's little wonder that the first time I swore in front of my mother remains forever etched in my memory.

We had horses when I was growing up. They were pretty much knot-headed, ill-mannered, equines. But my sisters and I loved them and three of the four of us enjoyed riding. (I don't think my oldest sister was ever a big fan).

One fall day after school my younger sister, a friend and I decided to go riding. We saddled the horses and were ready to take off when my horse suddenly reared up and flipped over backwards. (The theory today is I probably pulled back on the reins while he was on his hind legs and pulled him over . . . but that is the theory of hindsight some 45 years after the fact).

I dove to the side, the horse rolled over, and then the mighty steed took off for the neighbor's chicken coops. My friend took off after him. I stood up, dusted myself off, and started down the road as well. My sister must have run and told Mom.

I met up with my friend somewhere down the road. She was leading my horse back to the house. He seemed rather pleased with himself and was kind of prancing around her horse and generally acting obnoxious.

I took the reins from her and the horse pranced over my foot. It was more than I could take. My butt was sore, my hip was sore (I must have bounced from my butt to my side) and now my foot was mashed.

I took the reins and whapped the horse across the chest. Several times. Swearing with each whap. "You!  #$#@#!  Stupid! #$$#@! Ignorant $%$#@$! Son of a %$#@#!"

I remember the look of horror on my friend's face. Her eyes were as big as saucers. I turned around and there was Mom. There was only one word for it.  Busted.

Mom took one look at me and said "You get down on your knees and pray for forgiveness. Right now."

I remember thinking, "Sure. Here. You take the reins." But I didn't.

In the grand scheme of things, it was an incident soon forgotten by Mom (even before the dementia), but for me it has remained one of those "forever" memories.

Not one of my prouder moments, but a moment nonetheless.