Why are we here?
What’s my purpose?
Am I invisible?
Does anybody
really know us?
How do I express things inside of
me?
Perhaps you’ve asked yourself questions like these. I think
there are times in every person’s life when they ask themselves soul-searching questions in the quest to find meaning in their life or express
their individuality. Such was the case
this morning as I stood at the edge of a crowd of faceless parents overlooking
the organized chaos of Saturday morning Ski Lessons.
For six weeks, the boys spend a little time on the slopes of
a little community ski hill in the neighboring town. They seem to enjoy it and for the cost of
rental equipment and a ski school ‘badge’ they can ski for the rest of the day.
It’s a pretty good deal… for them. In
the meantime, however, the parents congregate like walruses on benches in the
little lodge amongst piles of snow boots and ski bags. The rest of us gather loosely, like non-communal
penguins around the ski racks outside, clutching at steaming travel mugs for
warmth and smartphones as supplement for human interaction. Insulated in gender
neutralizing snowsuits of Gortex and Thinsulate, it’s hard to discern the moms
from the dads. Curves are flattened. Features are obscured. Everybody walks like they’re wearing
diapers. Don a hat and some shades and
disappear into anonymity.
And then it hit me. Not
suddenly like a punch. This realization overtook me slowly like a gently
rolling fog, dull and hazy, faint and almost imperceptible at first. But
the haze began to thicken to that point where it was tangible. Up ‘til then
it wafted around vaguely, but then I could grasp it. The thin hint of
I-don’t-know-what which caught my attention was revealing itself. My mind awakened as if jarred from
unconsciousness. I began to formulate
one clear thought as I raised my head from a dank, putrescent smog of confusion.
I was onto something. It was… what? What was it? It was right there on the tip of
my tongue. I could practically taste it.
Oh my god, it was in my mouth! “WHO
FARTED?! JESUS!!!! What the fffhhhhuuuuuccchhhkk?!”
It has been my longstanding ascertion that ‘fart jokes’ are
always funny. ALWAYS. “Farts”, however,
are not. I remember the day my 9th
grade Biology teacher, Mr. Ellerson enthusiastically explored to topic and gently
squeaked out a discussion. He was a thin
man with dark hair and beard. He could
have been Abraham Lincoln’s younger brother, complete with large rimmed glasses
that might well have qualified as lab safety goggles, and a pair of Birkenstock
sandals worn with wool socks to complete the mandatory uniform for any high
school science teacher worth their salt.
I won’t bore you with the messy details of the discussion, butt it came
down to this: Unlike the senses of Sight and Hearing which rely on the
transmission of information over distance as energy in the from of ‘waves’, the
sense of Smell relies on the ability of our nose to interpret the chemical
makeup of particles that come in contact with the nasal membrane. Did you get that? Let me rephrase: Your sense of smell relies on the fact that molecules
that came from somewhere float around in the air until they come in contact
with the inside of your nose. Still not
getting the drift? (pun intended). OK - If
you smell a fart, it is because the particles that come in contact with your
nose were very recently in your neighbor’s colon. There. I can’t make it any simpler. So the idea of basking in someone else’s warm
gastrointestinal embrace is less than endearing.
As I looked back over my shoulder at ground zero. The lingering victims of the biological
attack stumbling stumbled away. As the
fallout zone widened, I paused to consider the moral implications behind the
decision to let one rip in the company of others and what it says about us as
individuals. A perfectly common and natural
biological process though that may be, everybody expresses what’s on the inside
a little differently.
The Gambler – Whether he’s at the
next table or staring you down with a blank poker face you’ll never know he did
it. He loves to play his hand at a
crowded table, but you always know when he bluffed in a showdown.
The Terrorist – He prey’s on the
unsuspecting public. Fear and flatulence
are his weapons. This coward will walk right into a crowd to detonate one of
his dirty bombs without fear of repercussions. He doesn’t care who’s standing
in the blast zone when he walks away.
The Kamikaze – Kindred spirits with
The Terrorist, but this guy takes pride in his work. Willing to sacrifice himself, he’ll deliver
the bomb and stick around until the bitter end.
The Joker – He thinks it’s funny
and can’t keep a straight face. He loves
to laugh at his own jokes. (This is my
9-year-old)
The Patriot – Similar to the Joker,
but this one enjoys reveling in his accomplishment by announcing it to his
friends with high-fives and challenges to break his record.
The Traitor – This self-absorbed
bastard does an ‘about-face’ when the deed is done, leaving his fellow Patriots
to suffer their own fate.
The Blowhard – A politician of
sorts, his filibustering, though brief can fill a room such that nobody dares
open their mouth.
The Geisha – Demure on the outside,
this Ninja employs mind over matter and secret kegel exercises to diffuse the
situation. She’s silent but deadly.
The Queen Mum - Bow before her or she'll execute one of her 'royal decrees' that'll bring you to your knees. "God save the Queen!"
The Girlfriend – Nobody actually
knows when she let’s loose. Distraction
is her ally. If her bashful bowel isn’t
hiding behind the sound of running tap water or the flush of a toilet, she’s
softly tooting in harmony while she blows her nose. What’s that smell? – Is that potpourri?
Beneath the parkas and sunglasses one man’s aromatic act stood
as a testament to his character. Unlike so many penguins huddled there in the
snow, our individuality rumbles beneath the surface, aching to surge
forth. Driving home today, my attention
turned to each of the boys in the back seat:
The Gambler, The Joker and his majesty, The King. I wonder what men they’ll grow into….
“Hey, did you just do that?” calls the first out of the
silence.
“Do what? Awwwww…..!”
replied my Joker.
“Oh MAN! Who farted?”
chimes in the youngest as he rolls down the window gasping for fresh air.
“I didn’t do it. You
did!” The accusations begin to fly
“No. It wasn’t me”
“Well, I didn’t do it!...…Dad?”
“What?”
“Did you do that?”
“Did I do what?”
“It was you wasn’t it?!”
“What was me?” I remind myself not to protest too much. “I
dunno what you’re taking about.”
…
..
.
Hey, don’t judge me. Everybody
does it. It’s HOW you do it that says
something about the kind of person you are.
Remember that when you’re sharing more than a beer during the Big Game. She
may have whipped up a steaming pot of Dutch Oven chili this afternoon, but don’t
forget to tell her the “You smelt it,
you dealt it!” strategy constitutes unsportsmanlike conduct when she ambushes
you with something ‘special’ tonight after the lights go out.
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2 comments:
Nothing like a great fart to stimulate pontification.
Oh my gosh! Ive never laughed so much; and to think the subject was something as common as the every-day fart. Now, Im not saying that I, personally, would deliver one of those squeakers or deadly releases that can clear a room in a matter of minutes; nor am I intending to claim any particular fart persona. Rather, my comment should merely be interpreted as a genuine appreciation of this writers style, sense of humor, and of his ability to remind us lighten up and laugh a little! This blog may not be Chicken Soup, but it sure is good for the soul.
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