Where the hell did the euphemism for death, 'kicking the bucket', arise from?
Honestly, at what point did someone decide there was a correlation between dying and punting a container more commonly used for holding water? 'Pushing up daisies' I can understand. 'Gone to that big place in the sky' also has some logic to it. But this bucket kicking business has got me stumped. I know that through all the time I have spent playing games of Bucket Soccer and Bucket Hackysack (which is a lot, mind you) I have never once thought to myself "you know, this reminds me a lot of someone dying". Maybe it's just the way my mind works. Maybe I lack the intellectually athletic ability to make that leap in logic. Though I have a sneaking suspicion that I'm not the only one.
Can you imagine using that turn of phrase in conversation with someone who had no idea of its meaning?
"Doctor, how is my husband?"
"Oh I'm sorry to tell you ma'am, he kicked the bucket."
"What!?! I Brought him in here with a severe bout of pnuemonia and you've got him playing football with a bucket? What kind of hospital is this?
"No you see ma'am, what I mean is that he has died."
"DEAD! Well maybe if you spent more time treating his condition rather that letting him play that ludicrous bucket football game this wouldn't have happened! I'm suing. Honestly, a bucket..."
I'm sure if I was bothered enough to do some kind of research I'd manage to find some 17th Century tradition from which the phrase is derived from. Something to do with how the kicking over of the bucket to spill its contents represents the soul being poured out of the body in death. But remember this: In the 17th Century, people shit in buckets, so using that kind of genesis, the soul is also likened to a steaming turd. Call me crazy, but I don't think it's the poo inside us all that makes us human.
Now there is some relevance to why I was dwelling on the ridiculousness of particular death euphemisms. You see, my Pa died yesterday (that's my Granddad on my mum's side for those of you trying to trace my family history). The thing is, when informed of this, I didn't really feel anything. Sure, there were the thoughts of "well that sucks", but it didn't affect me emotionally at all.
Now I know there's probably some people now thinking "you sir are a horrible, horrible man!" as you go around grabbing materials in preparation to crucify me, but Number 1. Calm the fuck down, you're acting a little over-dramatic, and Number 2. I didn't really know him that well. The last time I saw him was when we still lived in South Australia, and considering i was 8 years old when we moved to Queensland that makes it around 13 years since there was any contact with him. Even when we lived down there we didn't have too much contact with him, so it doesn't come as any big surprise that I wasn't affected by the death. In fact the only real memory I have of him is that he had a lot of cats, and I mean a lot. It's not like I went round his house doing a tally count and roll call at the age of 8, but at a rough estimation there would've been a good 30 cats roaming around his house, at least. As for the smell, well, what do you think a house ful of cats is going to smell like? Those cats certainly weren't shitting potpurri.
So what was I getting at with all of this? Well basically that it's just a very odd sensation to have when a family member dies and you don't feel anything, even though it seems like you should. I guess it's hard to miss someone you never actually see.
Friends, Romans and Countrymen, watch those phrasebooks. They can be dangerous when used unwisely.
Scott
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