Of all the things my children may one day say of me, the one I most wish for is perhaps too positive a description for them to ever utter. It would also require plagiarism, which is something we in this house do not believe in. In this case, though, I would make an exception in order to hear them characterize me as Jean Shepherd did his Old Man in “A Christmas Story”: “He worked in profanity the way other artists might work in oils or clay. It was his true medium. A master.”

At present, I am not certain I am worthy of such a beautiful accolade, or of being referred to as a master of the craft, but my ongoing commentary is replete with color, particularly of the blue variety. Alas, though, the world is working to remove the punch such language delivers, because we’ve gotten all too comfortable with weaving once-forbidden expletives into our daily conversations, our marketing, our expense reports, our condolences, and every other form of communication in which we engage.

And while it may effing suck that Aunt Gladys died or that one won’t be reimbursed for that Milky Way from the hotel mini bar, it’s all become a bit much. One could ascribe my growing aversion to casual swearing to age or mellowing or simply changing tastes, but as it would be laughable to consider me a prude, it must be the children who are wrong.

Consider this: from politicians casually dropping f-bombs to wine to shopping bags, we are inundated with language that’s still ostensibly considered NSFW, presumably even in the headquarters of the companies embracing such branding. While not a new trend, we’ve reached the point where it’s not even shocking anymore, at least for those of us who treat it as an art form.

For those who don’t expect the world to operate as Tim Whatley’s waiting room, it’s not very inclusive, though some may argue that it is inclusive of alternative modes of expression. And inclusivity remains important, even as businesses are purportedly jettisoning the concept, but, well, let’s be real. Statements about backing away were just pillow talk, baby.

In reality, the mom who refrains from swearing and tries to limit her kids’ exposure to it may have some explaining to do when they peruse the dairy aisle. Nor will she be spared if looking for some high-protein snacks to feed the little ones. (Of course, this presumes that she won’t hear people casually swearing around her in the store, as such standards of decorum have largely faded from public life. It’s as if South Park didn’t try to warn us.)

Beyond threats to inclusivity, though, is the simple fact that normalizing such displays debases language itself by neutralizing the beneficial and emphatic nature of such words. Overuse neuters the f-bomb, reducing it from an exclamation point into mere filler. Musicians, for example, can’t simply tell us to put our hands up, they have to tell us to put our f***ing hands up. Actors cannot just thank the Academy for their awards, they have to give f***ing thanks. Even this book, which seemingly embraces my point, undermines its own premise with its title.

It’s all so juvenile, much as actual juveniles, armed with the first explicit entries into their mental dictionary, pepper conversations with their friends with swears. The difference, though, is that the actual juveniles correctly feel the power of the words and delight in their subversive nature. The adults who do so, on the other hand, are engaging in a facile and lazy display of faux rebellion, one which violates no taboo nor risks any repercussions. It’s cringe, as the actual youths would say, and not far removed from trying to be hip by talking about skibidi toilet aura.

And it’s time to stop it. It’s time to RETVRN to the ethos that prompted George Carlin to author his infamous routine, a portion from a now-dated act that doesn’t exactly pack the same punch as it once did. Nor would the scene from A Christmas Story in which Ralphie says “fudge” shock young viewers in the same way as it did one afternoon in middle school when we youngsters were treated to a screening of the film. They all said the actual word innumerable times last week.

In other words, by making such language permissible for everyday use, we’ve actually limited our ability to communicate, to strongly express ourselves when the situation absolutely demands something declarative. We’ve destroyed a tool with which we can shock listeners at appropriate moments. We’ve replaced having a deep vocabulary that affords us the opportunity to articulate emphasis with lazy shortcuts that articulate nothing.

Most importantly, we’ve robbed true artists — artists such as Carlin, the Old Man, and me — of the ability to proclaim something like normalized swearing to be copulating bovine excrement in a way that elicits a response beyond a yawn. And that, my friends, is something that we should all be truly offended by.