My Dad was in town this weekend. I love my Daddy. Grandpa Randy makes my kids laugh like no other human being on the planet. He has a special gift with kids, always has. If he takes his grandkids to the park, or visits them at school, it is a matter of seconds before he transforms into the Pied Piper and a band of kids follow, laughing hysterically, after him. In Junior High, he used to take my friends and I toilet papering in the middle of the night. He always challenged me to ride the biggest ride or go down the biggest water slide. If I wasn't tall enough to ride, he'd stuff toilet paper in my shoes so I could go with him. He exudes joy.
Well, joy and potty talk.
My dad, like my kids, thinks bathroom words are absolutely hilarious. Let's be honest...they are. There's nothing like good old fashioned, bona fide poo-poo and pee-pee humor.
Grandpa, being the sage that he is, was coaching my kids on the finer art of controlling bodily functions. His main advice was to "Never trust a fart."
My son Caleb was riveted. "Why, Grandpa?" he asked innocently.
"Because, Caleb, you never know what might come with it."
A discussion ensued of "hershey squirts," "skid marks," and "diarrhea."
The next night at a restaurant, my son let one fly. It was silent but, very deadly. With a proud, knowing smile, my dad said, "Caleb, what is that smell?"
Caleb simply replied, "I trusted it."