How do you, and/or the children in your life, refer to… well, flatulence.
I ask only because I overheard a big and bad discussion between an adult and a child at Fenway Park on Monday night regarding this very topic. First, let me repeat that I was at a baseball game. Peanuts. Cracker Jacks. Sausage, with or without peppers. Beer. Dough Boys and other greasy, fun things. Things that rip through intestines like a 10-year old on a Slip ‘n Slide.
You get the picture. So… I was way up in the bleacher section of Fenway Park; so far up, in fact, that I could touch the Dunkin’ Donuts sign. Yeah, right up there with the official K-Men. And way up there was also a nice little family of 4. A mom, a dad and two kids around, maybe, 5 and 7. I use the word “nice” loosely, because I think I am “nice” too… but I let my kids use the word “fart.” It actually was one of the most favorite words in my home. And the tradition has been passed, so to speak, on to my grandchildren.
Am I bad?
Anyway, this is what happened with the “nice” lady and her family. A man was sitting directly in front of this family. He passed gas. Let loose. Cut the cheese. Dropped a bomb. You know, farted. Loud. And animated. Everyone laughed. And chanted for more. The man happily obliged. More laughter. It was funny… to everyone except the “nice” lady. She was perturbed, to say the least, but she really let loose, so to speak, when one of her kids said, “That man farted.” By then, her buttocks were really in a tizzy and she exploded under the pressure… so to speak. She pointed a finger at her giggling child and passed the words, “WE DON’T TALK LIKE THAT.” The child was, by then, so involuntarily relaxed that all she could do was laugh. And, of course, that reflux just caused the other child to join in. With the laughter, not with he anally retentive “nice” lady discipline.
OK. I don’t criticize the way any mom or dad raises a family. It is, truly, none of my business. But c’mon. We were at a baseball game. A sold-out playoff game. In the bleachers. Where one would expect fun, and even a bit of raucous behavior. Beer. And yes, maybe even a fart or two.
Now… I am not sure if this lady’s anal sphincter’s ability to hold ’em in is as magical as the Tampa Bay Rays’ season, but where do the farts in her family go? And if one does escape, what do they call it?
Just wondering…
Fart is not a four-letter word.
Did you know that “peter” is the French verb for both: to fart; to wax one’s skis?
It’s true.
My husband and I Fart. Around the kids we Toot. I’m sure they’ll say fart soon enough, but I haven’t encouraged it. My husband always tells my daughter that she “toots like a trucker” though. Not sure about the flatulence of truck drivers- are they worse than other people, or maybe just that they can do it whenever they want because they’re alone so much?
Or maybe I’ll just start saying I need to wax my skis. I like that better!
In our home we fart. My kids, who are both grown fart. Now Lil Man who is just starting to expand his vocabulary will laugh when he hears a fart and run to whomever it was that dealt it with a bright grin on his face while shaking his head yes and saying “Poop?” which in turns earns another round of laughter.
Now I venture to wonder if Poop is a bad word? Hmmm
Oh Sharon, This cracked me up. I can remember growing up and if we said “fart” we were told it was a bad word, so in raising my kids, we tried to avoid that word and used “pass gas”, “Air bisquit”, “cut the cheese”, “broke wind”……but really, now thinking back, I don’t see it as a bad word. There was a lot of it going on in my house, especially with my son after eating McDonald’s hamburgers. He gassed out our whole family at a get together one evening. Thanks for sharing this funny story.
We grew up saying Fart. When I was in college, I worked as a summer missionary and lived with a really awesome family. We were wrestling on the floor (about four of us, their two boys and two college students) when their youngest let one rip. We all laughed and I said, “YOU FARTED!” The room fell silent. “We say Pass Gas.” Oops. They really are a great family. 🙂
We have our kids say pass gas for now but when they are older, fart will be our go to word. I just want them to know when it’s appropriate to use it first and they aren’t yet old enough. But at the ballpark? Yep, it was a fart.
Oh, we “fart” in our house too. I honestly did not know that it was a bad word in some houses…Honest to God!
Best way to get the kids laughing is to be singing the words to a song and randomly input the word “fart” for any other word that was supposed to come next. Ok, sometimes it gets a little out of control…but its all in good fun.
We don’t “discuss” it here. Does that mean we are as “bad” as the lady at the ballpark? If it should ever happen to be heard by another member in our household we pretend it never happened. I guess we’re just no fun.
At school I have my class refer to it as a “toot” if they must say something. Which of course, they must!
fart, passing gas..letting loose. Whatever words we come up with at the momemt – OK I just asked my 5 yr old what she likes to call farting..she gave me a horrified look and said why do you want to know? I said this lady on the computer is curious….funny thing..gas and the internet.
thanks for making me laugh
She needs to get a life! One of my pet names for my kid is “fart boy,” and it makes us both giggle. 🙂
My daughter and son (8 and 4) say the word “fart” with such obvious glee that I wouldn’t think of stopping them.
Go Red Sox!
GREAT POST! That is hilarious – and you are a fantastic writer. Honestly, I just feel sorry for her. Farts are hilarious and inevitable – to fight both of those universal truths is a losing battle.
The act is funny- the word bothers me. I hate the word fart- it sounds so vulgar. We “pass gas” or “toot”.
I’m the firsto admit I may be uptight however. I also don’t wear white after labor day!
The first comment reminded me of a visit to my cousins’ in Quebec when I was twelve (of course you know I’m of French-Canadian descent).
The drop-dead gorgeous teenage boys asked me to spell, in French, the word “Egypt,” leaving out the first and last letter.
“Zheh-Peh-Teh,” I answered dutifully.
Everyone laughed uproariously and I had no idea what was so funny.
My Mom whispered in my ear, “‘J’ai peter’ is French for ‘I farted.'” I was horrified and wanted to die right there on the spot.
I never forgave them.