Big Boys Don't Cry 10 cc The Original Soundtrack That old saying "Big boys don't cry" is very true in many instances. But when these big boys are faced with a potential crying opportunity they often resort to another more vocal release. That is often refereed to as "swearing like a truck driver or a stevedore". I'm not sure where I heard the best swearing session but I do recall the one with the most impact. When I was really young, around 6 or 7 we lived in a small semi detached house in a quite community. My folks loved the house and we were very comfortable there. We were a family of five with a relatively modest lifestyle. One night, while I lay sleeping peacefully in my bed, I was rudely interrupted by my father's screams of agony. Then my "church going", exceptionally well mannered father began a cycle of swearing that included fabulously creative word combinations that I had yet been exposed to. Being an aspiring hockey player I knew I had to remember some of these for use in intense situations on the ice. I raced downstairs to see what this was all about and to learn some new colorful expressions first hand. When I arrived my father was describing to my Mom what he had done to himself. He had become thirsty during the night and went downstairs to get a drink of water. My Dad is a little taller than the average man but not a giant by any means. When he walks he takes these enormous powerful strides and always appears to travel with a purpose. Our kitchen at the time was laid out in such a way that you had to pass between the stove and the kitchen table to reach the sink when arriving from upstairs. Prior to going to bed my Mother had decided to clean the oven. In those days you hosed the inside of the oven down with one of these ammonia based foams and left it to wipe clean in the morning. They also recommended that you "leave the oven door open while the foam does its work". As you can imagine my Dad went downstairs and marched purposefully into the kitchen only to drive his shin full force into the side of the open oven door. Well suddenly my two sisters my Mom and I all understood exactly where he was coming from, as indicated by the blood on his shin. Fortunately there were no broken bones, just a couple of days of complaining and a bit of a hobble. I often wonder what we might do in a situation like this if we had no swear words in our vocabulary. I think I would go straight to crying. I have to say my Dad can kick ass in the cussing and swearing department when he "needs" to. So by right, so can I. I just want to make sure I pass the torch along to my son in a slightly less painful manner.