By Rick Kaempfer
I made a comment on my Facebook status update yesterday about Theo Epstein’s arrival in Chicago, and it somehow degenerated into a discussion of passing gas with my Facebook friends.
I have to admit, this sort of thing happens to me a lot. The subject matter isn’t my favorite, but it sort of wafts out at times that it shouldn’t, if you know what I mean. I’m going to put the blame where it belongs: spending every waking moment with three growing boys.
It really is like a locker room in this house. A reference like this can come at any time from any of my boys. One incident is my favorite.
I was driving (then 7-year-old) Sean over to my mother’s house, when he said: “Dad, I think you need a hearing aid.”
I’ve actually been thinking the same thing, so I didn’t fight him on it at first.
“That’s thanks to 30 plus years of rock and roll, buddy. It takes a toll on your hearing after awhile. That’s why I tell you turn down your headphones.”
“But you’re almost completely deaf,” he said.
“I am not,” I countered. “I can hear you now. My hearing isn’t what it used to be, but…”
“YES YOU ARE!” he insisted. “You didn’t even hear what just happened.”
OK, he got me there. I had no idea what he was talking about.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I just farted sooooo loud,” he explained totally seriously, “and the bubble in my butt was sooooo big, that it almost lifted me up off the car seat, and I’m wearing a seat belt. You didn’t even hear it, did you?”
I tried not to smile, because he was truly concerned.
“How do you know I didn’t hear it?” I asked.
“Because you didn’t turn around and say ‘Excuse yourself, Sean.’”
“I must admit,” I said. “I didn’t hear it.”
“It was the loudest fart of all-time, dad. You need a hearing aid.”
He’s probably right; I will eventually need a hearing aid. But in this case, it wasn’t the 30-plus years of rock and roll that caused my hearing loss. It was the 16-plus years of being a father of boys. Some things happen so often, you don’t even hear them anymore.
My 16-plus years of experience also gave me the wisdom not to question the all-time status of his flatulence.
The last thing I needed was a competition.