^^^That's a funny thing about my Dad. He *never* swore at home. I got smacked once because I used the word "pissah," which is a Boston thing. Then one Saturday my Dad had to go into work because a gate around the property had frozen shut in a snowstorm. Since it was Saturday and no one else besides a mechanic would be there, he brought my younger brother and me along with him. There was a Dunkin Donuts shop right near his workplace and he promised us donuts if we went to help him. He had us go up into a control tower where he worked and told us to push the open/close buttons on the gate controller when he said to do so over the intercom. Then he went back outside to work with the mechanic on the gate. When they had freed up the gate, he told us to push the Open button, which worked fine and opened the gate. He told us it was working, good job, and all that. Then I asked if we could get donuts now. My brother and I then heard him say to the mechanic, "Do you believe this f**king kid? Always thinking about his stomach."
My brother and I sat there with our jaws on the floor staring at each other.
Dad said the F-word!!!! 
We were stunned. Years later I met some guys who worked with my Dad who claimed he was a prodigious crafter of brutal language when he was mad at someone for screwing up. Something I never knew about my father.