Let it go

“Own up!” the adult male said. “Who fired that puff?”

“He did!” squealed one boy.

“No way, it was him!” protested the other.

The third boy rolled around giggling his head off.

The one woman there pretended to hold her nose and laughed so much she could hardly breathe.

That was the sort of Sunday morning silly joy I was lucky enough to experience when I was with Harley, and his three smelly boys joined us for the weekend. Five bodies laughing under the blankets. Giggles and tickles and getting tied up in knots in the sheets.

Such crazy nonsense melted my heart. Joining in with their boyish laughter was the best medicine for my previous habitually all-too-serious life.

I envy those of you who were brought up in carefree funny homes. And I will always feel sorry that I didn’t share more rip-roaring belly laughs with my own kids.

I don’t recall any of my family ever farting out loud, let alone laughing with each other when somebody did. Sadly, I missed out on such silly joys. My wonderful mum was pretty busy with my much younger siblings. And I was pretty busy trying to be a sensible and mature young lady.

My dad wasn’t any help at all as his idea of humour was embarrassing or belittling other people. I guess I carried a somewhat tight lipped, eye-rolling haughty mentality into my serious adulthood.

Harley taught me how to be another way.

He used to look forward to seeing his “Smelly Meady Men”, as he often called them, with a boyish glee that matched theirs as soon as they arrived and the fun started. Smelly from backyard campfires, from sweaty armpits, and from way too many farts.

Before that, if someone farted in my company, I’d feel disgusted. I’d poo-poo any guy or boy who let loose in public, and even moreso anyone who thought farting was a funny thing to do.

“How immature,” I’d scoff.

I probably wouldn’t have been able to write a blog like this. Actually, I couldn’t even say the word “fart” without feeling gross.

My own fluffs, if I wasn’t alone, I would hold onto for so long, to the point of causing my belly to cramp with pain. I’d even resort to going quickly into any nearby bathroom just to let one go without anybody being able to hear it. If ever I did accidentally let one go I’d be mortified. I’d either pretend I didn’t hear a thing or that it certainly wasn’t me or, sometimes, I’d even look around surreptitiously, pretending to be affronted at whoever else had done it!

Surely it’s better to be honest and just find it natural. Better out than in, sort of thing? And even better still, to have a good laugh about it!

But it does make me wonder. Why is it that boys find farts funny?

Is it because they can share it with their mates, as a time when they can, for a moment, abandon any pressure to be responsible? Is it because boys take decades to grow up? Is it because boys’ bodies act and react faster than their brains do? Or even a more basal instinct, a connection and fascination with bodily functions?

And why is it that girls look down their noses when someone else farts?

Is it because they are conditioned to always be proper? To be feminine and discreet? Is it because they spend less time in childhood and move more quickly into supposedly responsible young adulthood?

I remember near the end of Harley’s days, as we watched Little Mermaid together (a movie he told me would change my life), he thanked me, after a particularly gripping scene, for not making a fuss over the SBD he’d let loose, which had made the room just a wee bit hard to be in for a while. (For those brought up in different parts of the world or in other eras, SBDs are Silent But Deadlies). We hugged and had a laugh about it later.

Life with Harley was certainly very romantic and often hugely inspiring and intellectual, but it was also a constant laugh. He was so colourful. Being with him allowed me to tap into parts of me that had long been lost. To get to know my inner child. Like the ability to be spontaneous and be myself completely. And the ability to laugh uproariously at the most silly things. To laugh with each other. To not take life too seriously.

This held me in good stead when I met Made.

In the first days of getting to know each other, sometimes as we were walking across a field from one side of the island to the other, he’d let off the biggest fart and jump forward, whilst at the same time looking behind him as if something had bitten him on his bum.

“Who did that?!” he’d say, in an over-the-top manner, playing the clown.

Remembering the times with Harley’s smelly fluffy boys, I couldn’t help but laugh with him. It was such simple and innocent fun.

Much later, Made explained to me that the reason he let off those bombs was to see how I would react.

“If you not laugh,” he said, “it would mean you don’t know how to have funs.”

“Ladies that don’t laugh at bombs make life way too seriously.”

(That reminds me, one day I must buy Made a whoopy cushion 😉.)

What are your thoughts? Do you have a silly laugh with your partner or your kids when they puff away?

If you don’t, that’s ok!

But I dare you to try it.

My inspiration for this little blog is a podcast I listened to this morning, from a recent ABC Conversations interview with Maggie Dent, author and parenting consultant. She made me laugh with her perspectives on raising boys to become healthy, well adjusted men and fathers. She strongly condones farting as a great ice-breaker, leveller and even as a mother-son bonding strategy. Oh if I only had my time over again, I’d parent so differently!

Hmmm, look out my future grandsons, and granddaughters too. 😜