Little Pitchers Have Big Ears (Oh Do They Ever!)

This past July 4th, my family traveled to Dover Delaware to visit with friends for a combination independence Day celebration and birthday party. Our sister, Chris, and her husband, Mark have been having us down for this day since the days of yore, and then some. It so happens that Chris's birthday falls on the holiday. My wife, Robbie, our grandson, Bradley, and myself were in the lead car, followed by our son, Scott, in his car, with our daughter, Kim, and her husband, Scott, bringing up the rear in their car as we caravaned down Delaware Highway One. Bradley, the grandcritter, was with my wife and I because he always had to ride in "Nana's car" whenever we all went somewhere together.

I had not had much more than a few hours sleep in the past few days, and I was buzzing along quite nicely thanks to my favorite pain killer cocktail so my mouth and brain were not exactly working at all well together that day. I was in one of my all too usual, speak now and try not to think about it later, modes. (And just for the record, my wife was doing the driving, not I.) As we neared the toll plaza on the south side of the C&D canal bridge, we encountered a series of rumble strips and the sound generated by the car traversing said strips fascinated Bradley. He asked me what was making the noise and I, without thinking, as usual, said that he was hearing "Road Farts."

Well Bradley had a new "phrase of the day" and every time he said it I got "The Look" from my wife. That was the longest thirty miles I've traveled since the last time I said something stupid in the car. (Last week, I think it was.) Bradley kept asking his Nana when we would hear more "Road Farts," And if looks could kill, I wouldn't be here to write this. It was nothing, however, compared to the capitalized "LOOKS" aimed at me from my daughter throughout the course of the party.

Bradley was playing with his toy truck on the picnic table, pushing the truck back and forth on the table while making, "pppthrp-pppthrp" noises and declaring them to be; "Road Farts, Road Farts!" loud enough for the neighbors to hear. Of course, everyone else thought it was funny, which led to even more intense "LOOKS" from Nana and Mama. Well, can you imagine my shame? Hah, not even; after all, it's in the blood (and the gastrointestinal tract, of course!)


*Note to the family: Yes I know that there is a good bit of exaggeration in this piece. But you have to admit that the boy was fond of the phrase. It's called, "Literary license." And, if you still have a problem with my taking such literary freedoms, I can always teach the boy to make armpit farts! Nuff said? I thought so.