Nein Farten

Lynley has a strict policy on passing gas. Don't do it - ever! I guess, since she has never done it (I believe that because I am a guy and I want to believe it), she has the right to have that opinion. While I agree with her, I take a far less militant approach. None the less, as we often do, we divide our parental responsibilities down by the sexes when it comes to things that appear to be dependent on sex.

And, as I have already established, I believe with all of my heart that only males do this.

I have come to like the policy of girls handle girls and boys handle boys as it seems that there are more girls problems than boy problems - at least in our household. It seems that girls have all kinds of issues and always need some kind of specialized talk. However, on the boys side it is a rare occasion and most issues can be solved with a couple of grunts and "dudes." As you would expect, on the topic of cheese cutting, I have been given the responsibility of head chef. It is my duty. I have to deal with the boy, my Dudester, and his apparent infatuation with flatulence.

One might argue that boys will be boys, however I can tell you, in this household, that simply won't fly. With Lynley in the ranks it is viewed not only as unacceptable but as an assault on the very fiber that holds the world together.

The problem is that Graham finds tremendous joy in his newly acquired skill. I somewhat remember from my childhood that "farting on demand" was quite a beacon of boyhood superiority. On top of that, I also seem to recall it being very funny. Of course, as a grown man, that has all changed but, before I commit to punishing my kiddos, I always try to view the world through their gas filled goggles.

Over the last few weeks there have been several complaints from the girls concerning Graham's gaseous attacks. Of course, according to Lynley law, I have stepped in quickly to correct the behavior. At first, I suggested that Graham should excuse himself from the room and, in the rare occasion in which it could not be controlled, he should say excuse me. Of course, now it seems that my son has a serious condition in which it can never be controlled (unless, of course, he needs to do it on demand) and tries to get away with it by following his thundering and toxic release with a pleasant "excuse me."

I always told you that Graham was the politest and kindest of the bunch.

Regardless, egged on by other boys at Tae Kwon Do last night, Graham contributed (if not led) to a rumbling stink out. The girls all came running to their mothers to complain and, for some reason, I received the disapproving look - as if it were my fault.

It is funny how everything bad that the kids do always seems to be my fault, but, that is not really the point.

Anyway, I took this opportunity to sit the boy on the bleachers and give him the best non farting speech I had. I brought as much drama as I possibly could to my dissertation on the inhibition of boyhood flatulence. Everyone was in tears - Graham because of my committed demeanor and, all of the women in the class, because of my over the top performance. In the end, it was Lynley who could not contain her laughter and completely undermined my authority on the subject of this public indecency. The next thing I knew everyone had a smile on their faces.

The problem is that I had it all within my grasp. I had Graham scared fartless, ready to commit to a life without gas until the women folk took all of the broken wind out of my sails.

And you know what, the next time he does it, guess who is going to get the disapproving look?

Yep, you guessed it.

Sometimes even all of the purpose is not enough.