When I was in fifth grade, I did not know what the word “fart” meant.
OK, stop laughing — I truly didn’t know the word. My family had always called them “potty-burps,” which is a term exactly six people have ever used (me, my parents, and my three siblings).
Not knowing the word “fart” was the source of the harshest embarrassment I have ever felt in my life. It still smarts today, thirty years later. I’ve gotten sweaty palms just typing this.
I was just sitting at my desk, minding my own business while the teacher diagrammed sentences on the blackboard. It was after lunch, likely a processed cheese sandwich, apple slices, and a Little Debbie, when I accidentally let one slip — a small fart with a small, but audible squeak.
And the boy behind me started giggling. Then he told the kid sitting next to him and they both giggled. I shrank in my desk, my ears burning with mortification.
The noise of two students carries when there are only twelve students in a class and you’re in a big, old Catholic School with eighteen-foot ceilings and ancient, sloping hardwood floors. So my teacher stopped writing, mid-word, to ask them what they were carrying on about.
“Courtenay farted!” the boy said, barely able to suppress his glee.
The teacher rolled her eyes and sighed wearily. It is not easy to maintain order in the monkey house.
“Courtenay, what do you say?” she asked me, clearly prodding my manners into action.
Except that I didn’t know what I was supposed to do because I didn’t know what a fart was, nor if I had done it. So I did what any non-native speaker does when he or she is accused of a crime with a word he or she doesn’t understand: I protested.
“I did not!”
“Yes she did! I heard her!” the boy argued.
“Yeah!” said a kid sitting across the room, who more than likely hadn’t heard anything, but wanted in on the ruckus.
Flustered and on the verge of losing it, I stammered, “I didn’t. I did not. I… I…”
“She did, too!”
The voices supporting that opinion grew louder, soon all of the kids were a-twitter.
To nip insurrection in the bud, the teacher calmly asked me to step outside into the hallway, then she demanded silence in the room with a threat to involve Sister Martin. Few students actually survived an encounter with Sister Martin, so the room quieted quickly.
I stood and followed my teacher as she left for the hallway, never taking my eyes from my shoes. By the time we crossed the desert to find Israel, I was sniffling and dripping tears on my Buster Browns.
I had never been in trouble for anything, so I did not know what happened when a student was called into the hallway. Was I going to be marched down to the office? Forced into Confession? Drawn and quartered with a sword plunged through my heart, never to be seen or heard from again?
My teacher closed the door, then squatted down to look me in the eye.
“Courtenay, I need you to tell me the truth. Did you fart?”
“No.”
“Then what happened? Why are they saying that you did?”
I had no idea how to answer the question. I wiped my nose with the back of my hand and whispered, “I potty-burped.”
Uncomprehending, the teacher looked at me. “You what?”
I started to cry in earnest as I repeated, “I potty-burped.”
For a moment, neither of us moved. Then she set her hand gently on my shoulder and said, “All right then. Go wipe your face and come into class. And, the next time you feel the need to pass gas or potty-burp or fart or whatever, please excuse yourself to the restroom.”
It was then that I finally understood that “fart” and “potty-burp” were synonyms. My embarrassment about actually farting was eclipsed by the sense of dread I felt knowing that my immature vernacular was just another way that I didn’t fit in with the other kids. I wondered how many other words I didn’t know.
Taking the lesson to heart, I made learning slang a goal for the rest of the school year. I learned about farts, poop, and barf from eavesdropping on the boys in class. I learned what a brown-noser was when I volunteered to sort some papers for the teacher. I learned what it meant to teased for being smart, mocked for using manners, and called “gay” just because it was 1984 and Catholic kids apparently know the best insults to shout over the fence into your backyard. I hardened myself to jeers of “Miss Perfect,” “Stuck Up Snob,” and “Smartie Fartie.”
And I decided that I was going to teach my kids the words the other kids would be using. I would hand them each word wrapped carefully in instructions for use: “Fart is appropriate in the bathroom, but please say ‘passed gas’ at the table.” “Yes, someone may call that a boob, but it is more polite to call it a breast.” “It is inappropriate to call someone or something retarded or gay.”
I guess my Catholic school education did stick.
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Souper Sutff
Yuck, kids are the worst. And that teacher was awful for making you walk out into the hall with her. She should have just let it go.
Samantha Brinn Merel recently posted..You Never Forget Your First Time
I’m guessing she was pretty puzzled as to why I was in the middle of a dust-up — I never got into trouble, she may just have been worried about me? Dunno…
I was just telling my son the other day that when I was growing up, in our house we called farting “burping in our pants”. He could not believe it.
Mod Mom Beyond IndieDom recently posted..The Rubber Is Meeting the Road and I’m Not Back Peddling
Oh, funny!!
We NEVER said fart either. We said “let one.” “Did you let one?” What is it with Catholics, anyway? I love that it inspired you to LEARN EVERYTHING INAPPROPRIATE.
Cindy – The Reedster Speaks recently posted..Eating Nemo
It did inspire me to learn all things inappropriate. I had to keep up, you know?
I, too, love that Catholic school made you especially into learning slang. Just as the Pope intended.
I also tend to wrap my explanation of words to my kid in instructions under the theory that “know your audience” is a key to conversation and life.
Funny post!
Larks (@LarksNotesThis) recently posted..We don’t hit people, Kevin.
Exactly — gotta know the audience. I hope my kids get it…
Potty burps is a very cute description of a fart, even if it did cause you some embarrassment.
My Half Assed Life recently posted..One Of Those Days
It is, provided you aren’t instantly paralyzed just hearing the term, hehe…
We used to call them “hiney burps.” I remember boys always calling each other “hard-ons” and not knowing what it meant. I have always told my kids what words meant, but they usually didn’t ask if they thought it was something sexual.
Marcy recently posted..Less Timid, Less Squeamish: My Second Blogoversary
Smart kids — the explanation would be a thousand times worse than not knowing, LOL!
This is so adorable. I am sure you were mortified, but it brought me back to Catholic school and the nuns and high ceilings. SUch a good story. and it’s hilarious that you called the “potty burps.” Learning slang is hard.
Yes, it is a completely different language, especially if you happen to be the oldest kid in the family. The kids with older siblings always knew more, didn’t they?
LOL Courtenay!!!! Oh you poor, sweet, adorable kid!
Although I personally LOVE the term potty-burp, I can see how it could cause confusion. Oh lady, this post was awesome!
Dawn Beronilla recently posted..100 Dogs In A Month
Thank you! And I just wanted to melt when I got called into the hallway.
I went to Catholic high school and we had a “Sister Martin” for sure. I never realized there were so many nicknames for toots, I mean farts.
Kristin recently posted..Fortuitous Forty
I know, right? You could probably write a whole song about the million things people call flatulence.
Oh you poor pure thing! My husband went to Catholic school with Sister Mary Elephant (Mary Ellen). Oh the stories! So sorry but this was a great post!
Stacie @ Snaps and Bits recently posted..Coming Home
Mary Elephant, LOL! I love it. Sister Martin was a scary one, for sure. I think her hair was a buzz cut under her veil.
IASoupMama recently posted..A Fart by Any Other Name…
Oh, memories… I was always the kid who went home and looked up words in the dictionary, hoping to find them but never succeeding. This would have been me if I hadn’t gone to public school!
Dana recently posted..Stuck in the Middle With[out] You.
Yes, I couldn’t find “fart” in the Merriam-Webster way back then. I’m sure it’s there now…
As a Catholic school survivor myself, I can identify with this story. And you told it so well. I felt your shame at being singled out in front of the class, and I love the imagery of your tears falling on your Buster Browns. Not that I love that this happened to you! Just great writing.
Mamarific recently posted..Interrupting all Programmes: Taking Back the Dial of Life
Thank you — I think all Catholic school survivors have a similar war story. We should all get together and get tipsy telling tales some time.
I can’t believe the teacher would call you out rather than teach the boys it is equally impolite to point out someone’s gas. I think port-burp is sweet. It reminds me of how my cousin used to say pop-poop, which still makes me giggle. Great story!!
Than you! I think the teacher may have been worried about me and was likely trying to keep me from more embarrassment, but it didn’t work. It’s OK, though, I lived to fart another day.
Our kids know them at “toots.” Maybe we should teach them the correct word too before they have to go through what you went through. As a former sixth grade teacher, I know exactly what it’s like when something like that happens to a kid. . . it’s too bad she chose to talk w/ you instead of the boys. . .
Jared Karol recently posted..AIDS Is Going to Lose
We usually call them toots, too. My older two know more names, but the twins are only 21 months, so they just call them toots. They do say “excuse me” when they toot, which is pretty good for being wee ones, right?
I love “by the time we crossed the desert to find Israel.” Says it all, so efficiently.
Louise Ducote recently posted..Let’s Go Home
Yes, the walk of shame in an elementary school. It was totally a perp walk, too.
ohh that is the sweetest fart story i ever read!!
Why thank you! I am to please
So embarrassing, whatever you call it!
just JENNIFER recently posted..Wordless: Glacier Peak….or not
Yes. Definitely.
Has anyone in the history of the world ever excused him/herself to go fart in the bathroom? I don’t think so!! What a great story, well told. I’d like to give little you a hug and Sister Martin a talking to out in the hallway!
Mary @ A Teachable Mom recently posted..Not For the Faint of Heart
I’ve never met anyone who has…