A Dissertation on Fuck.

“Fuck may be the most undervalued and versatile word in the English language,” I announced from the backseat of a rental Jeep in Hawaii.

To that proclamation, my brother Jared, ten years my junior, bowed deeply and shook his head.

“Here we go again,” he muttered under his breath.

I was 28, drunk, apparently dressed like Big Bird and about to deliver an unsolicited dissertation on the king of profanity to my entire family.

They were trapped in the car.

And I had the floor.

We had arrived in Hawaii three days before The Dissertation on Fuck for my cousin Desiree’s wedding.

It was our first family trip as adults and, unlike our Hawaiian contingent, who had mastered the art of family togetherness, the wheels were coming off our Haole bus with each passing day.

We simply hadn’t cohabitated in years.

“It can be a noun, verb, adjective, adverb…” I continued.

I could see my parents snickering in the front seat, which was the most encouraging reaction I had received the entire trip.

Looking back, my philosophical outlook on fuck had started percolating the day before the lecture, after a meltdown between my sister and my mom.

“Pee-yew, somebody stinks in here,” my mom announced as we crammed into the Jeep for yet another pre-wedding family event.

One by one, we were accused of burping, farting, forgetting our deodorant or not washing our feet until my sister Jillian found the culprit: a half-eaten bag of stale French fries left under the seat.

“It’s the French fries, Mom,” she said, as we three kids began laughing in the backseat.

My mom dug in.

“It is not the fries,” she retorted.

“It’s the fucking fries,” Jillian said, then proceeded to throw the half-eaten bag at my mom in the front seat.

They hit the dashboard and exploded everywhere.

[Exhibit A — Fuck as an adjective and exclamation. I don’t think it was the throwing of the fries that made the point as much as the use of profanity.]

That was a ballsy move by my sister.

Confrontation is not something we employ as a family. We either stick our heads in the sand or brush things under the rug.

We do not swear.

And we certainly do not throw the fucking fries.

“I mean, let’s take fucking for example,” I pressed on. At this point, I was tipsy enough to believe I was making an excellent point. “It can be used as an adjective, a verb or an adverb. Fucking can describe something, or you can fuck someone…”

That was accompanied by some blushing.

“And for the adverb…well, I don’t fucking know what an adverb is.”