When I was about 6, my dad took my brother (8 at the time) and I sledding at the best hill in Lemoyne, PA. We were the new guys, having just moved to town from New Hampshiah, so as avid sledders, this was a good chance to meet the neighbors. The hill was packed with other young parents and their kids, ranging from probably 3 to about 10 years of age.
My father used a lot of profanity in his day to day conversations, and by 6 years old, my brain had soaked up plenty of it, but I had yet to start swearing out loud.
Well, I was particularly afraid to go down this hill. It was taller and steeper than any hill I'd ever seen, and as I watched the other kids sledding, it looked like they were travelling faster than I'd ever gone. Additionally, I was riding an inflatable "Thunder Tube" and I'd just watched my brother get bounced out of his as he went speeding down the hill. So, I was pretty freaked out.
My dad finally talked me into just sitting in my sled at the top of the hill, promising that if I just looked at it for a while, eventually I'd get up the courage to just kick off and enjoy the ride. So, I did, and still couldn't muster the desire to go screaming down this trecherous, white death-slope.
Eventually, my dad put his hand on my shoulder and said "How 'bout I count to three and push you?"
"No," I said. "Don't. I'll go soon."
Well, dad counted "One... Two!" and shoved on the word "two." I zoomed down the hill, bouncing the whole way, hanging on to the Thunder Tube's handles for dear life. Powdery snow was flying into my face and down the neck of my coat.
The next thing I remember, I'm standing at the bottom of the hill, facing up toward all those other little kids and their parents and shouting (with a voice that boomed for a 6 year old) every insulting arrangement of swear words in my father's direction. I'm sure I called him a "mother F^%$er" at least twice. I probably asked God to damn him half a dozen times, and I probably declared that his head was made of excrement after each breath. I'm not sure how long my tirade lasted, or even what compelled me to stop. But I know that my dad never bothered to punish me for it. I think he realized that the incident was basically his own mistakes biting him in the ass.
