My family is not just connected through our blood relations. We are connected through a shared passion: farting. We live all across the United States, from Pennsylvania to Texas to Idaho to Florida. However, when we get together, a nuclear gas war erupts. We fart in each other’s faces, wake each other up with pooter machines to the ear, burn holes in our pants by lighting our farts, rip them in public to get reactions out of people, trap the smell in jars and trick each other into opening them – the list continues, and it gets even more creative. In my family, farting is a way of life, sculpted by my father and his siblings and passed on to my brother, cousins, and I.
When I was younger, I thought that farting was something that everyone found funny, since my family found them to be absolutely hilarious. I realized this was not true in kindergarten. I became very good friend with a girl in my class and we frequently had playdates and sleepovers. However, I was terrified to go over to her house because her dad would yell at me whenever I farted, burped, or made a potty humor reference. I was very confused since my family was so open and accepting of these things. My friend’s dad was scaring me away from my love of farts.
Nonetheless, her dad did not succeed. It was impossible to escape my passion for farts when my dad and I would have baked bean eating contests at dinner on a regular basis to see who could get the best batch of gas. I realized through being friends with a girl whose family did not share my family’s passion for farts that farting is, in a sense, a culture, only shared by a select group of people. I knew it was not just my family that enjoyed farting - I had many other friends from fart loving families, too. But I did come to realize that not everyone was in the farting culture or very accepting of it. Farting is something that many people try to oppress. Those who are not a part of the culture see farts as rude, disrespectful, and gross, therefore they try to hinder the practice for everyone. Because of this, I started to become self-conscience and began to keep my passion for farting a secret, only to be revealed to close friends and, of course, my family.
While whitewater rafting in Idaho a few summers ago, I discovered first hand that the farting culture is not distinct to America. I always assumed that families in other countries celebrated their flatulence, but I had never experienced it until that day. My dad, brother, and I shared our raft with a father and his two daughters from Argentina. I had a loaded cannon that afternoon. Because farting is a frowned-upon culture, I tried my hardest all day to hold my farts in or make them silent by squeezing my butt cheeks together and slowly letting the air out. It was hard work.
The trip came to a slow part in the rapids. The raft guide said we could get out of the raft and swim around. He jumped out and so did my brother and the Argentinian man. I was perched on the side of the raft. With the raft and my suit both being wet, my fart was amplified when it accidentally slipped. It echoed off the canyon walls. I was devastated.
My dad immediately laughed and to my surprise, so did the Argentinian girls. So I stopped holding back and joined in the laughter, which initiated the second fart.
The one girl laughed and asked, “Are you declaring war?” She admitted her farting passion and said that I should hear her sister at home. These Argentinians were part of the farting culture! It was amazing.
After the cultural experience with the family from Argentina, I decided to stop trying to conceal my passion for farting. I vowed to myself that I would share my culture with those around me and invite everyone to celebrate farts. I am a proud farter and will not stand for oppression!
I was in the waiting room at my doctor’s office a while back. There was a young boy, about eight, with his mom and dad, waiting as well. Out of nowhere, he ripped a huge fart. His mom was appalled and began telling him that farting was inappropriate while is dad was becoming red in the face, trying not to laugh in front of his wife. I, on the other hand, could not help myself. I burst into laughter and even extended my arm to the kid, offering a high-five. He high-fived me back and began laughing as well. He was a part of the culture, yet his mother was trying to obstruct him from expressing his values. I wanted to encourage him and let him know that farts are funny. I wanted to welcome him to the culture.
Like I said farting is a culture that is often oppressed by those who do not share the passion. Yet I believe that farting is a culture to be celebrated! So I say, let them rip!
