Our crudest outbursts can unravel ancient links between words and thoughts. They may even hint at our ancestors' first utterances
IT WAS the first time one of us swore at Dad. My older sister was 13, and had been looking forward to the school trip to Washington DC for years. It was the pinnacle of middle school – a long bus ride to the capital, two days visiting important sites and an overnight stay in a hotel with her friends.
But as I eavesdropped from the next room, I realised my parents were telling her she couldn't go. A severe asthmatic, she had just recovered from pneumonia, and it wasn't worth the risk. Their voices rose, and she pleaded, implored, screamed. Finally, she thundered past me and ran up the stairs. Dad followed, furious. Then something surreal happened. As he reached the bottom of the ...
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