Even the most proficient witch cannot prevent the awkward social situation that arises when the young child she is responsible for ‘toots’ in public.  Ignorance is futile.  Reminding the little one to say “excuse me” (or saying it for them) while sharing a sheepish grin among the adjacent bystanders is the best option.  Instances that involve the natural occurrence of bodily functions are the greatest equalizer.  They can level any implied social hierarchy by reminding even the most rigid and pompous individual that everyone farts. (Sorry, Evie. I do not particularly care for the vulgar term, either, but it seemed the most appropriate choice when used in this context.)

The extent to which a child demonstrates politeness towards others depends largely on the personal standards of their parents and caregivers.  If you are not embarrassed to burp out loud or ‘break wind’ in the company of others, without at least offering an “excuse me” after the fact, your kids are sure to follow suit.  This is the reason why kids might often receive conflicting messages from mom and dad until one parent becomes sternly committed to the matter. (Mom usually wins this one, even if she knows that the “excuse me” habit may only be recalled when in her presence.  Boys, and sometimes even their sisters, are known to engage in competitions that showcase the amazing capabilities of  their bodily functions, but at least they wait until Mom has left the room.  Most of the time.)

Of course, cultural differences and social customs are relevant to what is considered ‘mannerly’ behavior, as well.  I was born and raised in the northern United States where it was Yankee custom to address all adults as “Mr.” and “Mrs.” (or “Miss” if unmarried) followed by their last name.  When Durwood and I moved to a southern state, I was horrified to be addressed as “Miss Jillian” instead of “Mrs. Bean.”

Even mentioning the first name of one of my parent’s friends would have drawn a stern look from my mother.  If I were anywhere within my mother’s immediate striking range, the ‘look’ would most likely have been impressed upon me further with a sharp smack on the head.  Using the first name of any adult (who was not an aunt or uncle) was considered highly disrespectful.  I still refer to my mother’s best friend as “Mrs. Kelly” out of some weird fear that I still hold in speaking the name “Betty” out loud.  My mother may be eighty-two years old, but still quite adept at physical correction should she ever feel the need to slap me in the back of the head.

After living in the southern region of the United States for several years, I no longer cringe when I hear my kids’ friends refer to me as “Miss Jillian.”  It would seem that ingrained teachings by which my concept of respectfulness was defined do persist.  I still find myself insisting that my own kids refer to our adult friends as “Mr. and Mrs. Last Name.”  When these adult friends are products of a proper southern upbringing, they override my introduction by welcoming my kids to address them as “Mr. and Miss First Name,” whereby the young Beans will then look to me as if seeking a nod of permission to do so (wondering, perhaps, if Grandma might be around to smack them in the head when they do).

One very impressive southern mannerism that never fails to amaze me is that the majority of children who were born and raised here reply with an automatic “yes, sir/yes, ma’am” and “no, sir/no, ma’am” whenever spoken to by an adult.  Where I grew up, you only responded as such if you were in military school.  In addition to repeating the traditional Yankee practice of “Mr. and Mrs. Last Name, ” I pretty much stuck to the basic “please, thank-you, and excuse me” phrases with the young Beans.  This would explain why all three of them now sound like Rainman when in the company of their southern-bred friends.

Last evening, Mr. Bean and I attended Natalie’s high school band concert.  We brought our niece Caroline with us.  Under normal circumstances, I would not condone bringing a two-year-old to a performance in which extended periods of silent attention from the audience is preferred.  Since Caroline’s mother is a professional musician, I am confident in her proper audience training.  Constant exposure since birth, combined with her mother’s insistence on what is expected, has provided Cara with a level of courtesy that often exceeds that of the behavior I have witnessed by some adults during a live performance.  Unless, of course, she has consumed a fair amount of beanie-weenie for dinner.

At first, Cara tried to contain her gaseous outbursts much like any adult might attempt to do when surrounded by an auditorium full of people.  Durwood told me later that he could feel Cara raise her tiny bottom and lean to one side in an effort to squeeze her little cheeks together while sitting on his lap.  Much to her dismay, Cara’s efforts became fruitless as eventually the beanie-weenie effects acquired the upper hand.  Apparently, her initial rumbles were quiet enough that Durwood reports having experienced an uncontrollable need to smile, simply because he thought her antics were quite “cute.”  When soon after it had become obvious to him that her low-key toots were accompanied by a most unpleasant odor, his amusement was replaced by a sudden panic.  He wondered if anyone else was smelling the same thing he was and worried that they might think that it was him.

By this time the rancid odor had wafted in my direction.  Naturally, my first instinct was to shoot Durwood an accusing glance, who in turn widened his eyes and tilted his head toward little Cara.  I was appalled that Durwood would even consider blaming our niece for his rude behavior.  Upon further consideration, it did seem a bit out of character for him.  My assumptions were confirmed when the real culprit, who had become weary of adhering to her mother’s courtesy standards, leaned over and held her arms out to me while at the same time ripping a highly audible wind-breaker of epic proportion.  Based on the number of turned heads around us, I would estimate that it had traveled at least three rows deep.

Uncle D beamed proudly (probably thankful, too, that everyone knew it wasn’t him) while all I could do was offer condolences to the smiling faces all around us.

“Ready to go sit in the lobby for awhile?” I asked Cara.

“Yes, Ma’am,” she replied.

Tags: awkward social situation, everyone farts, proper audience training, southern mannerism, traditional yankee