On Flatulence, Or, Did Somebody Step On A Duck?

Let us consider The Fart. The humble Fart, which, I put forth, is the foundation upon which all solid relationships are built. Example: last night, in bed, I emitted a particularly piquant blast, upon which I remarked to Beth who lay next to me, "GahDAMN. This room now smells like the legendary Elephant Graveyard." No further proof is needed that milady and I are completely of one mind - I can express myself, in both the gastronomical and emotional sense, without fear of embarrassment or reprisal. Men know that we have found that special someone when we are comfortable enough to let fly and comment on the emission in her presence.

But what of the boy? We are very European when it comes to the form and functions of the human body and how to best explain them to our kid. The Penis, for example, is just that; not the "wee-wee", or the "winky", or the "pee-pee" (although early on I pushed for "the ol' cock-and-balls", but cooler heads prevailed). Lucas has a penis, and will tell you so; during a chat with my grandmother a few months ago, he in fact pointed to his crotch and yelled "dat's my penis!", a tale which we'll be sure to tell his prom date. So too does he fart; no "pooting", "tooting", or "fluffing" (yeah, there's dual meaning there, but I learned that term when I was younger, before I learned it from Philip Seymour Hoffman. The term, not the act. Jesus, you people and your sick minds.) Lucas farts, and will tell you so.

No shame in what's natural, we say. We live in a Puritan society; children are taught that sex and poop and pee are gross and wrong, and that the body and its forms and processes are to be discussed only in shameful whispers.  "F" that, as they say on the radio; we want Lucas to understand that these are things that people do, and that's OK. And there's an added benefit. As he's not embarrassed of or by his bodily functions, he's learning the practical applications of breaking wind. Last week, he wasn't feeling well; bit of an upset stomach. At one point, Beth asked him if he still had a stomach ache. His response: a massive fart, followed by a jocular exclamation - "Not anymore!" Further proof that progressive parenting works.