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The joke’s on me PDF Print E-mail
Written by Wauneta Breeze   
Thursday, 03 July 2014 15:40

By Diane Stamm

The Wauneta Breeze


Just the other evening I witnessed my son fart on his hand, sniff it and giggle. Why would anyone think that’s a good idea? Later, when I told my husband about it he giggled too.

Is there a household on the Earth where giggles haven’t been heard because of potty humor? If so, I’m guessing it was a house full of women. Any house with kids or males is sure to get a laugh out of fart sounds and potty humor.

It feels like we are constantly having conversations discouraging bodily humor.

Soon after conquering the spelling of his own name, my school-age daughter taught the boy “P-O-O-P.” When the word started showing up randomly on his school worksheets it earned me a trip to the preschool office. Again, giggles from my husband.

On one drive to town last week my son piped up from the back seat, “Which hand is my right hand?” Without looking in the rearview mirror I raised my right hand.

He responded in a tone that made it sound like the coolest talent ever, “Huh. I pick my nose with my left hand.”

I don’t want to encourage nose picking, but he sounded so impressed I had to grin. What else would you expect from a boy who just wants to make as many bubbles as possible when he goes to the bathroom?

Other conversations have included “Does other people’s spit taste?” I won’t touch that question with a ten-foot pole. I’m not prepared to explain how I would know.

It’s not always questions about bodily functions. It’s often questions about the body itself.

Why do we have belly buttons and do Chinese people have them too?

After a year and a half of showering by myself, I recently found the shower door ripped open while I had soap on my face. Unable to defend myself, my five-year old son joined me. I finished washing my face and set him at the far end of the shower, as far away as possible. He managed to wait until I started to wash my hair before he started pointing and asking questions. As quick as I could get the shampoo out of my hair I booted him from the shower. He took the last clean towel, but it was worth it.

Growing up around animals has led to many uncomfortable talks, also. As honest as I want to be, I often squirm because of their questions. It doesn’t help when my mother-in-law takes them to see the various activities around the farm saying, “It’s a fact of life, they need to see it.” Then she leaves when the questions start.

They have witnessed calves being castrated and now refuse to call testicles anything other than nuts. As a four-year old, my daughter demanded we get a “spud with nuts” to breed her mare so she could have a foal.

They have watched calves being pulled and have tried to relate the situation to a woman having a baby. Gone are the days of them thinking the doctor would reach down the woman’s throat to pull the baby out, but they refuse to believe the truth of the matter. It just led to more questions. Such as how do babies get in the mommy’s tummy? “Is it ‘fex’?” My mind said, “Stay calm, make eye contact, be honest.” Instead, my eyes rolled around like marbles in my skull and I stuttered out an answer that sounded like the priest that married Buttercup and Prince Humperdinck in the Princess Bride. “Mawage. Mawage is wot bwings us togeder today. Mawage, that bwessed awangment, that dweam wifin a dweam... And wuv, tru wuv, will fowow you foweva...”

It’s a slippery slope, answering the questions with just enough information to satisfy their curiosity and postpone more questions.

The best part of these conversations (when I’ve given the right answer) is when they try to explain body functions/parts to other people. Ask my son about his pectorals. Just be prepared, there’s a song and a dance.