The F-word Revisited

A few months ago Travis inadvertently taught Cash the F-word. I’ve told that story to almost everyone I know but I’ll retell it now just in case you haven’t heard it:

I come downstairs after Travis leaves for work and Cash says, "Mommy, West spilled the syrup." "He did?" I ask, "Did Daddy clean it up?"
"Yes," Cash replied, "And Daddy said f*ck."
"He did?" I say, trying not to smile.
"Yes, Daddy said f*ck like this: f**************ck." The last part is said in a long, drawn out whisper.

So ever since then, Cash has used the f-word occasionally here and there. (Thanks Daddy.) Usually I just try to ignore him. Today I decided to talk to him about it. Before his nap, I was reading Where the Wild Things Are to him. When I got to the part when Max is sent to bed without any supper, Cash said, "Fock!" (That’s how he pronounces it now for some reason. I still don’t want him saying it, even in a faux British accent.) I told him that we shouldn’t use that word because it was a naughty word. "Let’s say shucks instead!" I suggest. "But Mommy, shucks isn’t a spooky word. Fock is a spooky word." Cash insists. I try again to explain that even if it’s a spooky word, it still isn’t nice to say.
"Can I say peanuts?" Cash asks.
"Sure!"
"What about eggs? Or pickles?"
"Sure! Those are all great words."
"How about this new word – fock?"
"No Cash, remember we talked about that word. It isn’t nice."
"How about if I say it quietly, like this – foooooooooock?"
"How about if we just finish the story Cash?"

I think I’ll go back to ignoring him for now.