The more you eat, the more you toot,
The more you toot, the better you’ll feel,
So let’s eat beans for every meal!
If you grew up in the fifties the word fart was a dirty word, the word toot was not. I guess the rules went something like this. Because you can make a musical instrument toot, that is an OK word to use in public. Until the adults in your life start saying things like “You might as well fart your own horn, because nobody else is going to do it for you.” you had better not say the word fart, (but toot is OK). Still, toot isn’t half the word you need to describe what your big brother can do with a tuba when the minister and his wife come by for a visit. All the beans in all the chili in Chicoutami couldn’t let rip with a better evening’s entertainment than the sounds coming from his room when he has just the right audience listening to him practice. It would make anyone question whether the dictionary’s description of the tuba as a “bass” instrument was a spelling mistake. It gave The Jolly Dutchman, his latest favourite, a really bad reputation.
Of course, the very logic of a child requires that he use every forbidden word his little ears have ever heard, and with as much frequency as he can muster. Otherwise, he is never going to become an adult. So learning to talk is going to be a lot like how he learns to do everything else.
“No! No Jimmy! No stairs! Mummy will carry you up.” is how it all begins, with lots and lots of “no-nos”. But little Jimmy won’t ever forget the day that he finally sneaks off and crawls up those stairs. After Mummy runs a big figure eight around the tables in the kitchen and dining room, bending over and pulling out the chairs, she runs upstairs herself . She’s so surprised, excited and thrilled to find him headed straight for the toilet bowl, where he knows that he will soon be able to stand up and splash water onto his face just like he sees Daddy do at the higher one right next to it every morning. She swoops him up in a big hug, and he thinks to himself “My Mummy never wants me to do these new things, like grabbing my spoon, or climbing up and down the stairs at first, but she is always so happy when I finally do. She’s a strange one, my mum!”
“No! No Jimmy! No bad words!”
“Hmmm. Just like everything else I want to learn to do, I think Mummy wants to say my words for me too! But I’m a big boy now! I can walk, and climb the stairs, and even wash my face if I want to, and Mummy is always so-o happy when I show off what I can do. F – – -”
“Jim! Get in here right away! This kid just said ‘Fart’! Who taught him that? It must have been someone on your side of the family! That Chicoutimi* bunch! They just have no class!”
* My apologies to any of you who are from Chicoutimi. I’m sure you are no more flatulent, nor do you celebrate your flatulence in song, story (or congratulatory remark when called for) any more frequently than the rest of Canada. Nor, have I ever been to Chicoutimi, Quebec and therefore I have no substantiating evidence of there being a flatulence problem there, I have however been down wind from Hull, Quebec and I cannot say the same. I have been told that your sulphurous vapours are the result of a paper mill in your town, and therefore you are forgiven.Trying to break down too much fibre is notorious for causing that problem. Maybe you just need a little song to lighten things up a bit.
Hull! Hull! You stinky old town!
Don’t let your odor get you down!
With Dr. Oz pushing for beans in our diet
Why take all the blame. Now you can deny it!