“Fart” is only the beginning. If you’ve ever had a son, or if you’ve ever spent time in the proximity of any group of boys, you’ll be familiar with their all-time favorite words: fart, butt, and poop. Truly there is no higher comedy, according to this demographic, than bodily functions and the part of the anatomy from which they originate. It’s amazing how easy it is for boys to work “butt” into any conversation. It’s a real show-stopper.
Actually, it would be lovely if this phenomenon were limited to 9-year-old boys. I’m sorry to say that this affinity for body-part humor never faded in the males I know best. Consider the evidence:
Vulgar You Tube Videos
One evening while The Husband was goofing off on the laptop, he began to laugh uncontrollably. When tears started rolling down his cheeks and he began gasping for air, I asked (against my better judgment) what was so funny. He insisted I join him in watching a video: a fire-and-brimstone-type preacher giving a sermon, with fart noises dubbed in over every other word. I smiled, mildly amused, and he was dumbfounded when I did not laugh along with him. He contented himself with sharing this miracle of comedy with our son on Facebook, which got him the reaction he did not receive from me.
Programmable ring tones
In my son’s junior year of high school, he altered his ringtone so that with every text (and he’s the reason why we got unlimited texting) we heard a computerized voice saying “Pooooooop.” Just like that – long and drawn out. Okay, I have to admit I laughed at this one, but really only because it made him fall on the floor, limp with laughter, with every text.
Sound effect machines
One of The Husband’s Christmas gifts to The Boy last Christmas was a “fart machine.” I refused to even look at the thing, but I was told by reliable sources – and I heard for myself – that a dial allowed the user to program the machine for different “types” of farts. We were treated to surprise demonstrations during several meals. Sophisticated, no? The two of them conspired to take the machine with us on errands and excursions, in order to create repulsive noises while driving. Honestly, it was so disgusting I got fed up with them and hid it in the middle of the night shortly after the holiday. Strangely, I have never remembered where it went.
I suppose as far as parenting goes, the lesson here is two-fold.
First, father-son bonding is a beauty to behold, even when it derives from an unsavory source.
Second, being a mom means endless opportunities for disgust and embarrassment. Best to get used to that fact early on.