Foul Play

The Next Family

By: Bandito

Have you ever noticed the excitement and satisfaction a child experiences when using the word “poo” in a sentence? Even as an adult, I find my self chuckling when discussing the matters of bodily waste, but nothing like how kids experience it.

The word “poo” usually rears its ugly head in a child’s vocabulary around the age of two, and continues well past the age of 34. If you think I am exaggerating, listen in on your child’s conversation with friends. What one word will illicit an immediate reaction resulting in uncontrollable laughter? “Poo”. Even if we look inward as adults, what stories demand the most amount of attention and detail, and always result in embarrassing, but belly aching, laughter? –stories about “pooing” or “pooting”. The poo has affected my life good and bad every day for the last 34 years. As I write this blog, I can’t help but laugh and snicker out loud, because the shit is funny!

It is hilarious because you can see the child’s mind working when they realize the poo they deposited into their diaper no longer has to sit smashed against their little asses until the stench alone drives away the friend that they were playing with, and mommy and daddy (who have both been glaring at each other as to whose turn it is to change the diaper) finally take a break from whatever cocktail they are enjoying to relieve the room of the foul stench of human shit! When your child finally realizes that he or she can simply retreat to the nearest toilet, and let go of whatever ill feelings there are bubbling inside their little tummies, it’s a right of passage that I wish I would have documented with my own family. Personally, I feel the poo rite of passage (from diaper to toilet) should be documented and studied by the leading scholars and universities in America. You can tell a lot about a child’s development based on the regularity or irregularity in which they poo, the size and color of the poo, the stink of the poo, and not to mention the length of time the child is willing to sit (without complaint) as the poo slides from one butt cheek to the other, until finally it exits the diaper and onto the outer layers of their clothing. For it is the wondrous poo that directly and indirectly affects all human beings’ physical and emotional well-being.
How come every time people step in dog poo, we all mutter the same two words: “ah, shit”? It is so frustrating and hilarious at the same time.

Poo has been a staple in my life even before my infant brain was capable of memory. But for as long as I could remember, my left foot has always found the center of dog poo. Usually left behind by reckless dog owners who feel it is the canine constitutional right to shit wherever it damn well pleases. I don’t know why, but my left foot has always been a magnet for dog poo. As of 10/14/2010, I have had over 23 dog poo-stepping incidents in my lifetime; and never have I stepped in it with my right foot. I have stepped in dog poo in approximately six states, and on one island. My shit-stepping incidents are legendary amongst friends and family. Just yesterday, I was outside gathering equipment for baseball practice, when splat! my left foot found the center of my own dog’s (Charlie) poo. In this instance, I could only blame myself, considering I was ambushed my friendly fire. However, memo to those pet owners who believe their dog is an extension of the human species: I challenge you to think outside your little dog-loving boxes and ask yourself, “Would you let your child shit on the street without picking it up?” I think not, but for whatever reason (you) whoever you are, allow your dog to poo outside my house every week without picking it up! But regardless of how many times my left foot finds the center of fresh poo, there is always something funny about it. Especially if witnessed by my wife and two young children. Nothing makes them happier than daddy’s public humiliation.

But as gifted as I am in stepping in dog poo, I am equally as talented at standing in an area at which time birds decide to empty their bowels. Birds have targeted me since I was a young lad. The first assault occurred when I was seven years old. As I stepped out of my mother’s bright blue Datsun with the newly bought banana royal from Baskin Robbins, some sniper bird bulls-eyed my ice cream. It was a one and a million chance that I would be stepping out of the car exactly at the same time that the bird decided to open its hatch. I have been bird bombed over 25 times in my life. The 25th attack occurred recently, while attending a track meet in the City of Gardena. There I was, in all my glory, standing tall and handsome with my white v-neck t-shirt, taking in the fun and sun with the wife, kids, and a family friend. When without warning, seagull shit pounded my shoulder. I was aware that something had just hit my shoulder region, but unaware of what it was until my daughter yelled at the top of her lungs, “eewwhh daddy got pooped on!” How could that damn bird hit me of all people considering I wasn’t standing alone under a light pole? I was in the middle of a field, standing amongst twenty or so people. The odds of that bird hitting me and no one else had to be astronomical considering the speed of the bird’s flight, its flight pattern, the height of the flight, and wind trajectory. Our family friend who had no idea regarding my history with poo, frantically hastened to clean it off my white t-shirt as to ease the embarrassment. As for my wife and kids (who never pass up an opportunity to laugh out loud at daddy’s expense), they simply pointed, yelled, and laughed hysterically so that everyone who wasn’t shit upon would know what happened to me.

All this poo talk has given me the opportunity to reexamine my relationship with bowel movements of all species. The fact of the matter is, poo is here to stay, and the sooner we embrace the poo, as well as use the poo as a true barometer of what’s right in the world, the sooner we will all be closer to the ultimate poo euphoria.

Now please, go and take a shower!

Thank you for reading.

.

[Photo Credit: Flickr member Vintagaveda_nat]

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