Farts are funny. This is one of the reasons I teach middle
school.
This morning a boy in my
first class farts really loudly. The
reactions of the others in his group are priceless. The lone girl pops her head up, cranes her
neck, and looks around like an ostrich searching for trouble. Two of the three boys in the group glance
nervously around, realize that everyone else in the classroom not only heard
the fart but is staring at them, then quickly point to the guilty party, the
boy with the red face who doesn’t dare make eye contact.
While the other students
sit dumbfounded, I quickly get out my aerosol can of flowery-smelling Lysol and
spray a protective perimeter around my own desk. Screw this – they’re on their own with that
fart. I don’t want it invading my
space. This action, in a nutshell, is
what outs me as a true middle school teacher.
Elementary school teachers
would have this reaction: “Now, children, everyone passes gas. Say ‘excuse me’ and let’s move on.” And then they’d move on.
High School teachers would
be all, “Oh, get over yourselves. Someone crack a window back there.” And then they’d move on.
Middle school
teachers? Well, we are a breed unto ourselves. Sometimes we clap for a good fart, especially
if wind is broken during a particularly high-stakes moment, like during
state-mandated testing or silent study hall.
Sometimes we rate the fart by commenting “Good one” or “Nice hang time
on that one” or simply “Duuuuuude.”
Middle school teachers
still think potty humor is funny.
Hilarious. Commendable.
Not convinced? My co-teacher and I are talking about words
that are difficult to spell. I tell her
that I find hemorrhoid to be a
challenging word. I also admit that I
find Fahrenheit challenging, as
well.
My co-teacher nods and
admits, “I find diarrhea to be hard.”
“Diarrhea isn’t hard,” I
say with a wry smile, “and that’s what makes it a problem.”
Then we laugh and
laugh. See? Potty humor.
Later in the day in my
class after lunch, another boy on the opposite side of the room farts. The kid sitting across from him thinks this
is hysterical and giggles so convulsively that he snorts.
“Eh,” I say judgmentally
from my desk, giving a quick Lysol spritz to the immediate perimeter, “I’ve
heard better today.”
Then I smile and laugh just
a bit because I understand that I will never, ever be promoted out of middle
school. I’m a disgrace to the teaching
profession and to decorum in general because, damnit, farts are funny. Best of all, though, they’re not too hard to
spell.
