Armchair Pundits

Potty Tales

If you are one of faint sensibilites, who cannot tolerate the mere mentioning of bodily functions, I advise you to exit quickly for my writing is about to take a curious turn.

Two things. First a question to our readership and then an amusing little tinkle tale. I beg of your graces for my long set-up. As many of you know, I have been engrossed in a home improvement project for nigh on fifteen months. Thus far, I have added an additional full-size bathroom.

At a recent garage sale, the proprietor of said event gifted me with a magazine rack that corresponded nicely in it's hue to the trim of my new respite room. Arriving home, my lovely bride of nearly a decade queried me as to what I might have planned for this fine piece of oaken craftmanship. If memory serves, I mumbled something to the effect of "I dunno' maybe I'll put it in the bathroom." I received a response in the key of W-cubed - meaning "where, why, and what in the name of all that is clean & holy are you thinking? This spawned an interesting discussion as to why some fancy their commodal time as devotional, while others prefer current events or world affairs. And by this, I mean you Mr. Newspaper P. (as in periodical) reader. Still another group remains, those who quickly get down to business and are in & out in such a furious dash, one faintly hears old Captain Picard bellowing the command, "Mr. LaForge--warp speed." Thus, my question: Are you a water closet philosopher or an olympic sprinter? Why? Note that you can comment as anonymous. I look forward to you responses.

Perhaps, right about now, you are shocked that my thinking has turned to the more base functions in our human experience. This is the case because of two recent conversations. The first, I have already detailed, the second follows.

Potty training children is God's little way of giving Gran & Gramps a modicum of retributive satisfaction for us forcing them to make peace with the fact that their Target list now includes bottles of hair dye and Rogaine. It is a task that requires immense patience, which at times can be difficult to engender when, for the fourth time that day, you find yourself mopping pee off of your freshly, $140 shampoo'ed carpet. Other times, old tricks you once employed come back to mess with your mind and herein lies my tale.

I have three children, the oldest of which is a six year old boy--hence, the first graduate of the Grisby School For Blissful Continence. A few nights back, we found ourselves out late as a family, and as such, were pressed for time regarding the bedtime routine. I was assisting with the brushing, not to be confused with gnashing, of teeth, when the following conversation ensued.

"Daddy, let's have tinkle races."

Ah, the floodgate of memories re-opened as I instantly was transported back to the days when I had instructed the boy in the matter of his sacred birthright as a male. That is, the finer points of peeing whilst standing up. A point my saintly wife has forgiven me, once I convinced her of the utility such a skill commands, i.e., golf course emergencies, back country camping trips, experiments in the laws of electricity (there once was this boy and an electric fence....), and of course putting out fires. Wait. That just stinks. And I do mean that literally.

"Okay" I replied.

The race ensued and as was the case when such games had purpose, the boy eclipsed his father
with a tinge of smuggish pride. Hey now! Give me a break. It's a simple matter of volume!

"You always win tinkle races" I stated matter of factly.

"I know. I guess this means I am talented" he retorted.

The boy wonder continued, "You know what else this means dad?"

"No. What?"

"This means that I must be growing up faster than you."

Akward silence of contemplation. The profundity of this moment between a father and his son, interrupted only by my uproarious laughter. Yep. We grow 'em fast and talented in the Grisby household.

posted by Grisby @ 5:54 PM