I can’t trace why, but I’ve never been much of a swearyface.

Where many teens or twentysomethings, already educated in expletives, escalated to coffee (or stronger stuff) during the crunch of post-secondary education, that’s when I began swearing.

Even then, though, it was more of an unintentional outburst when things got really crazy. These days, I let the odd profanity fly around friends, but mostly keep it cuss-free on the reg.

This comes in especially helpful around youngins and the public (he says, as a media guy, like he’s not also part of “the public”), as soapymouth is my default state.

I’ve heard many a horror story of toddlers learning to swear like proverbial sailors because they heard it from their parents, and continuing to employ them in their regular vocabulary due to the reaction they get.

I’ve also seen many a video of said youthful obscenities, because it’s tough to not get caught on someone’s phone these days.

Let’s face it. Kidlets are going to swear, eventually. Be it something they pick up from family, friends, strangers, media, or the internet, it’s gonna happen, especially approaching the ’tween and teen phase. And I’m equal to that.

But, for my part (the part of a prude), I’d prefer that my little’s source for foul language not be me. And not from a deluded sense of superiority over others. It’s just that that’s not how I carry myself day-to-day.

Plus…it’s been a lifelong amusement to find alternatives to common expletives.

If it’ll help, I’ll share some of them with you here.

The granddaddy of all cusses, the proverbial F-bomb, is most commonly replaced in my lexicon by the word “frick.”

Use it in a sentence, you ask? Why, of course! *ahem*

“Good crikey frick!”

Other uses include, “frick off,” “what the frick?” and the ever-popular, “frickity frickin’ frick frack.”

Depending on how interested your little ones are in Star Wars, a solid alternative might be “Good Babu Frik!” but don’t blame me if you get serious eye rolls for that.

My second favourite not-swear is the S-word, most commonly associated with, um, poop.

With all thanks to Germany, I exclaim “Scheiße!” (pronounced SHY-zuh) on a regular basis to express frustration.

If something is an “S-word show,” it comes out of my mouth as a “gong show.”

My parents used to say, “Ah, sugar!” but the cognitive dissonance of hearing the poop word replaced by the sweet word was too much for me to employ in my later years.

Even the word “crap” or “crud,” I replace with “crunch,” thanks to Strong Bad from the Homestar Runner internet cartoons of the early aughts.

And, because my international inspiration knows no bounds, my Chinese heritage requires by law that I exclaim, “Aiya!” as a form of verbal facepalm.

And, while your mileage (kilometerage?) may vary, I’d be fine and dandy with my 11-year-old using any of these interjections in place of their more inappropriate originals.

Perhaps I’m overthinking it. Perhaps I’m just an all-around goody two-shoes (legit; I neither drink nor smoke). Perhaps I love words (I seriously considered a career as an etymologist) and love using silly words in place of serious words even more.

Thankfully, my overthinking, prudish, easily-amused, word-loving self is much less likely to be posted to the internet for saying “Oh, crunch!” in front of my child.

My kidlet likes a schedule.

I’m ruled by time, with alarms for everything from taking out the recycling to not forgetting to eat ice cream as a reward for that thing I did six hours ago when I set the alarm.

I’d prefer to be a bit more relaxed with my days’ happenings, but my brain’s always looking ahead to the next thing. It just HAS to know where I am on the timeline. Too much gaming, perhaps?

Perhaps it’s hereditary, perhaps it’s anxiety, perhaps it’s . . . *gestures* ALL THIS…but my little prefers to know what’s ahead in her day-to-day. How does it go? “Nature vs nurture?” I promise I didn’t intentionally influence it. But it sure looks like my doing.

Of course, she’s not against a surprise on principle. But unexpected changes in schedule have led to frustration in the past because, as I see it, she’d already built out the day’s schedule in her brain.

Thus, as we begin our mornings and afternoons and evenings, I lay out (and later, remind her of) what’s to come.

Breakfast, getting dressed, school, grocery shopping, piano, walk, dinner, etc. Zelda or Animal Crossing or Pokémon during downtime.

I try to give 10- and 5-minute warnings before we switcheroo from thing to thing. This seems the perfect comfort to the way her brain works. It’s taken a bit, but it feels like I’ve hit the sweet spot of preparation and communication.

A calendar on the fridge is another useful tool. A week, or month, at a glance can help mentally prepare anyone for what’s ahead.

I reckon that our situation is sliiiiiiiiightly more regimented than that of the average 11-year-old’s concern for time. I know there are many kids out there who are less interested in knowing what’s ahead (possibly to the frustration of their parents). I also know there’ll be some who require hourly updates or more (refer back to frustration).

It’s not even about time proper. She doesn’t like wearing a watch. She doesn’t check clocks or ask for the time. Her timing points are the end of a chapter in a book, the end of a snack or meal, the end of an episode of a show.

I used to wonder what I could do to “fix” this. But, with all the world’s problems, I’ve come to accept that this probably isn’t the thing I should be dedicating heaps of worry to. Is it so bad that she likes order? No.

So long as she can function day-to-day without exploding, roughing out her days isn’t the worst anxiety she could manifest. Though, of course, a close eye is kept on it to see that it doesn’t spiral into other issues.

I’ve come to realize that it’s probably half about time itself, and half about control. She’s not a daredevil (except at the pump track). She’s not a rollercoaster kid. She’s not a move fast and break things type. And that’s just fine. That’s why it’s wonderful that there is balance in the world.

There are other kids who’ll eventually go bungee jumping or ride motorcycles or tame lions. Maybe mine will end up taking photos of their antics, or writing stories about them.

Or maybe, she’ll click one day and jump right in with the daredevils.

Perhaps she won’t be cautious forever. But, if she is, it’s not a detriment to her or the world.

Doesn’t have to be “Papa’s,” of course. Please replace that with whichever guardianship title suits you. I just like alliteration.

Also, I’m not a lawyer. I don’t even play one on the radio. So this ain’t legal advice (I threw in the “ain’t” there to solidify my point); it’s a balance of Googling and Papa paranoia.

There are many points of privacy we don’t have much control over without encasing our littles in bubble wrap or traveling with an entourage of tall, sunglasses-wearing security to fend off the paparazzi.

For instance, in Canada, it is legal for anyone to take a photo of you, or your kids, without your permission, if you’re out in public, or otherwise viewable from a public vantage point (if they’re not on private property), where you have no reasonable expectation of privacy.

It gets detail-y and law-y when it comes to commercial use, so I’m not venturing into that swamp.

What I am here to talk about is the protection of our kids’ personal privacy which we, as parents, have control over.

Everybody loves a baby photo or 20. It’s great to see children grow up through Facebook albums or Instagram accounts created to document their upbringing, but at some point, it’ll be time to think about the kid’s own autonomy, and what they might want when it comes to their image online.

The fact is, we all cultivate our online personas, whether a little or a lot. For digital natives growing into their own, having a backlog of images and milestones documented on a parent’s social media account and associated with their name might not be the coolest thing, dude.

I don’t know if the kids still say “dude.”

So, here are some ideas from Paranoid Papa Bud to balance showing your pride and joy off to the world…against them docking your coolness points later in life because of that photo of their naked butt in the bathtub when they were six.

Put yourself in their shoes. Many of us should be considered very lucky that our younger-days antics weren’t captured frame-by-frame for the entire world to see. Curate what you post, both for your audience (cull that series of face-in-birthday-cake shots down to one, rather than posting four similar ones) and your kids’ future rep.

I also don’t know if the kids are still concerned with their “rep.” I’m sure they are, but perhaps it’s called something different in 2020, like “Klout.”

Consider a nickname, or just use their initials. Especially if your real first and last name is on your social media accounts, maybe you address your little by the first initial of their first name. Many folks go by their first and middle names. Or, perhaps, a (hopefully non-embarrassing) nickname. Heck, I gave my daughter both a nickname (Kit Kat) and a hashtag (#PapaKidlet). Anything to slow down the search engines.

Ask. As they become aware of the internet and its direct connection to them—have them Google themselves or, better yet, have them Google you—check with them before posting photos or video of them. As their parent/guardian, you’re the one most allowed to post their likeness online, but like many other aspects of your relationship, this is a matter of respect. Show them that courtesy by asking, respect their decisions, and keep the conversation open and normalized.

Keep track of your media. There’s lots of internet out there, and it can be easy to lose track of where photos or video of your child have been uploaded. But, if you’re careful to keep it to, say, a couple or three main places, it’ll be easier to go back and pull any down which they may later find mortifying and request you remove. You do have a password manager to keep track of all those different passwords, right?

Watch identifiers. Scrutinize content pre-posting for anything which may make it easier to figure out your child’s city/school/home address. I’ve seen plenty of albums which include both a photo of the kid in a school wear, and another in front of their home with a visible street number. Doesn’t take much Google-Fu from there to find that house.

Engage in disinformation. That nickname you may be using? Ask them to consider using one of their own. Those cutsey screen names we used to use may be cringe-worthy today (ROOTBEERPOUNDER69420@ICQ.COM), but they also made it tougher to find us online.

Of course, as parents/guardians, we should be a part of any forms your child fills out asking for their name, address, phone number, date of birth, etc. But, unless it’s vital that the information be accurate (e.g., something for a health agency, government, etc.), consider keeping it to just their initials, using your work address, using your mobile or 000-000-0000 as a phone number, shifting their date of birth by a month or six, etc. Just keep it consistent in case some recall of the information is needed as a security challenge later.

It’s all about small deterrents to make OSINT (Open Source INTelligence, or using publicly-available records to gather information) on your family that much more difficult. While these ideas may not stop the most determined goofball from Googling you and yours, it should add enough noise to the signal to discourage the majority of ’em.

Screen time is one of the biggest concerns/struggles/die-on-the-hill battles faced by modern parents.

How much is too much? How can I cut it down? Why is it such a fight?

On that last one, in the case of phones, it’s because games and apps are designed to hold our attention and bring us back with notifications. Validation, fear of missing out, dopamine, etc.

It sucks, yet is the reality of technology we’re living with.

You’d probably fight if someone wanted to take your phone away, too. Problem is, our kids are using many of the same apps which have a stranglehold on us.

And, sadly, there’s no one solution. Like many things in life: it depends.

It depends on if your kid responds to “five more minutes” (and if you hold them to that), if you can fill your day with other activities away from the screens, or if there are alternative stimuli you can offer (and which they will take to). Every family is different.

For me, it’s not the phone. It’s the Nintendo Switch and DS. My kidlet loves them as much as I do, and sometimes, it’s boggling to see how much time can pass in play while I do a few dishes or reply to a few e-mails, not being present.

While, again, I don’t have the solution, I discovered something recently which has, at least, somewhat reduced the sedentary default of most gaming experiences: virtual reality.

Coming far from the cheezy VR you may or may not remember from the ’80s, today’s virtual reality can be a downright workout, depending on the game.

First, if you own a Switch, the Nintendo Labo sets have been a joy, and the VR kit they released last year has been a boon.

While the games are still meant to be played in a sitting position (a bit of a liability from Nintendo, a company which saw many people get so into digital bowling that they sent their controllers flying in to their TVs in the mid-2000s), playtime only takes place after building time.

The program takes you through very clear and detailed animated instructions on building the cardboard pieces which create a handheld 3D visor into which the console is inserted.

From there, more and more pieces are built, each taking anywhere from 10 to 30 minutes, and the game is very good at explaining how each of the pieces work with regards to the infrared cameras, gyroscopes, and accelerometers built into the console and its controllers, which are inserted into cardboard creations resembling a bird, an elephant, a rifle-like blaster, a camera which click-click-clicks when you turn the lens, and more.

The longform nature of the construction, the fact that learning is part of the process, and the active nature of the games themselves are all unique facets of the Labo kits, which is a stark contrast to the slouched controller-in-lap pose of most other games.

If it’s time to get serious, there’s a little gem of a place hidden away on Nanaimo Street called Vic VR. It’s run by an under-20 local, is kitted out with the serious headset-and-hand-controllers VR rigs like the HTC Vive, and boasts an impressive array of games for kids eight and up.

And what are patrons doing while playing these VR games? Standing.

There’s a surprising amount of upper body movement involved in many of the offerings. My kidlet chose “Job Simulator” as her first foray into serious VR.

Cue Papa scoffing at the ludicrousness of a child choosing work as a game.

Cue Papa eating his words as he spent half an hour serving robot patrons in a robot restaurant in Job Simulator after she was done.

Using my arms, which were being tracked by cameras to replicate the movement in-game, I blended, toasted, fried, baked, and washed up, all to serve my computer-screened overlords as the only human in the place.

I got the arm workout of my week with a game called Longbow, a tower defense game in which your weapon is a bow and arrow, necessitating the need for bow-and-arrow-like movements (along with precise aim) to stop animated stick figures from storming the castle.

But my favourite experience was the one I was champing at the bit to try in person after having watched many a video of: Beat Saber.

In the game world, your hands are each holding a laser sword, and you use these to slice through blocks, on the beat, while they rush at you accompanied to music of varying thumpiness.

Not only are arm swipes constant throughout each of the sessions, but occasionally, you have to duck down or sidestep to avoid larger walls coming at you. While I was slicing away, I had my friend take some video of me from his vantage point in The Real World™, and I looked ridiculous. VR is an amusing spectator sport, too.

Sure, you pay for time at Vic VR, but you also pay for time at a gym, right? I came outta there invigorated, if not a little sore, and anxious to return and slice more blocks. My kidlet asks me every week when we’re going back.

So, while it’s not a solution for everyone, virtual reality delivers on being an escape from the real world, with the added benefit of getting the blood pumping through physical activity, something your standard gaming situation is generally rubbish at providing.