Someone once asked me how I taught Shakespeare to teenagers.

“Simple,” I replied. “I show them the first bawdy joke and say it’s up to them to find the rest.”

After that, reading “Romeo and Juliet” becomes a scavenger hunt. Promise a teenager an inappropriate joke and they become avid readers.

As revered as old Will Shakespeare is, people forget that some of his audience was uneducated, possibly intoxicated, and restless. He needed to incorporate many sword fights and more than a few spicy lines to keep these folks entertained. Throw in a few well-crafted insults, like “Thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows” and who could resist?

From an amusement standpoint, we haven’t evolved that much. We have more technology and special effects, but sadly four-letter words have replaced those deliciously clever insults that would roll off the tongue.

This puckish creativity is why I have always loved Roald Dahl’s stories, even though as a person, he was undeniably a jerk. You can love something, but not like everything about them. That’s how I feel about Roald Dahl’s writing — his dark humor is delicious and spot-on, even if his real-life actions weren’t laudable.

There’s been a bit of a stir lately, about rewording Dahl’s stories. It seems the publishers may have lost their minds with some of these edits while forgetting that their audience is children, not helicopter adults. Children inherently enjoy being naughty, and misbehaving vicariously through a story, is about as safe as can be.

Take the rewrite of “The Witches” — a potential witch now might be a “business owner” or “a top scientist” instead of the original “cashier in a supermarket” or a secretary. Which of these are children more likely to encounter? Besides, is there something wrong with being a cashier or a secretary? After all, aren’t secretaries secretly the ones in charge? And don’t females in high-power jobs get enough negative attention without being labeled as potential witches?

The appeal of “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” is that entitled, self-important children pay for their vices. Augustus Gloop is guilty of gluttony. Mike Teavee is addicted to violent television shows. Tempering their characters by removing the word “fat” and deleting references to guns also eliminates the opportunity to discuss issues like nutrition, limits and violence. The more we hide from children, the fewer opportunities they have to learn.

My children loved the movies, maybe even more than the books.

And while we may have gleefully discussed some of the outrageous characters, the lessons learned weren’t necessarily predictable.

One afternoon when they were small, Quin sat in his highchair by the window and Chloe sat at the table eating their snacks. I was in the kitchen prepping dinner, talking with them but not giving them my full attention. Quin began to laugh, then cry, so I looked over.

The window and Quin’s hair were both splotched with pudding. It was not an adorable sight.

“What happened?” I demanded.

“Quin threw his food,” Chloe reported.

I studied the crime scene. Splatter marks filled the window, even dripping a bit on the wall. Quin would definitely need to be scrubbed. Curiously, Chloe was neat and clean. Mysteriously, her pudding bowl was empty. Obviously, there was more to the story.

“Then why is all the food behind him? Why isn’t any of it on you?”

Chloe immediately caved. “Well, if you don’t want me throwing food, then you shouldn’t show me movies that make it look fun.”

The movie? “Matilda,” another Roald Dahl. Ironically, this is a story that experts think should only be shown to older children because it might give a negative impression of school.

Once again, these misguided critics aren’t viewing the story through a child’s eyes. They miss the empowering climax where a school-wide food fight targets and drives out the dreaded Ms. Trunchbull. The joyful power of the food fight is what stayed with my 5-year-old, not a fear of the deranged headmistress.

Was Chloe hopelessly corrupted?

No.

Did Quin suffer any harm?

None, other than some extra tub time.

Was watching the movie a parental misjudgment?

Despite Chloe’s defense, I don’t think so.

While this wouldn’t be the last time my parenting skills would be questioned, it was the perfect opportunity for a lesson. And this time, the teachable moment included window cleaner and paper towels.