by Red Green
I could give many examples of these divisive behaviours, but there is nothing that better exemplifies the difference between men and women than their attitude towards flatulence.
And to be honest, I’m with the women on this one. There is nothing acceptable about flatulence. It is a social error. Yes, it’s organic. I’m sure it happens to every animal with a digestive system. Just looking at a hippo, you can almost hear the flatulence. But a hippo doesn’t raise one leg and almost give himself a hernia trying to make it really, really loud. Only men do that.
That’s just wrong. Flatulence is to be stifled, not amplified. Or elongated. If it’s unavoidable, okay, we can all accept that, but you need to immediately go somewhere private, like a restroom, and get it over with as quickly and quietly as possible. Nobody finds it amusing when you use it as a performance opportunity. Like when you wait until you’re in a tunnel to get the best acoustics, or until everyone is quiet in church.
People don’t want to hear anything your large intestine has to say. There should be a full stop at every colon.
For a mature, responsible person, like your wife, flatulence is a crude, undignified display of childishness and bad manners. For most men, it’s a source of great pride and unrelenting humour. At its genesis, flatulence is an act of aggression—an assault on two of the senses. Even more if you do the laundry. Your wife does not want to be with a man who acts like a nine-year-old, or even worse, a nine-year-old Clydesdale. Women do not enjoy bathroom humour. Only a man would let out a loud blast of wind and then say, “I’d rather have an empty house than a bad tenant” or “Did somebody step on a duck?” No woman would do that. You can’t imagine Queen Elizabeth saying that. But Prince Philip might. Although he’d give it the royal touch—“Did somebody step on a swan?”
As men, we all need to grow up and earn the love and respect of our wives and children. You’ve got to set a good example. Like father, like son. He’ll do what you do, and he’s younger and stronger, so it’ll be louder and longer. Is that the legacy you want to leave to the world? (I know a part of you wants to say yes, but you must fight that.) Flatulence is a sign of disrespect and it’s destroying the ozone. So the next time it happens, don’t exploit it with wild gyrations and facial contortions and then explode in uncontrollable laughter. Just excuse yourself and light a match.
AND BABY MAKES THREE
In the first few years of marriage, you’ll have a lot of good times.
And chances are, nine months after one of those good times, you’re going to find out that you and your wife are pregnant.
It will be a shock to you. This is something that you never realistically considered because of its potential negative impact on those aforementioned good times. There is no greater reminder of the fundamental tenet of cause and effect than finding out you are “with child.” Well, maybe not you specifically, but someone very close to you—in fact, as close as you can get. Both of you are about to go through some life-altering experiences. Especially her. So hang on, you could be in for a bumpy ride.
Of course, both of you are going to have a positive first reaction to the news. For your wife, it taps into the natural mothering instincts that may have been what drew her to you. For you, you have that hardwired burst of pride that you are a stud.
You promised your wife that together the two of you would grow and prosper, and now your numbers are about to go up by 50 per cent. That’s a great return on investment. They say that nothing worthwhile in life comes easy. In my experience, even things that are a complete waste of time can be difficult. But having a baby is an extra challenge.
The first issue is all the things that are going to happen to your wife’s body and mind over the next nine months, and possibly twenty-one years. Yes, her skin will clear up and her hair will have lustre and her smile will glow, but she’ll also put on fifty pounds, have a sore back and never be more than a hundred feet from the restroom. It’s commonly known that pregnant women look beautiful, but not to them. If your wife has always prided herself on looking good and being fit, it may be hard for her to see herself resembling a gecko that swallowed a bowling ball.
And she will be tired all the time. It won’t be just you napping anymore. The worst part is she may get depressed. And you not only have to accept all of these developments, you have to accept them appreciatively. This is not a time for you to be negative or even neutral. You must be constantly positive and supportive. You should overhear total strangers commenting to each other about what a perfect husband and soon-to-be father you are. You need to build and then maintain all of the goodwill you can muster. That’s because, under all the pain and medical issues and bouts of depression, at the very core of her being, SHE BLAMES YOU. And she’s right. So don’t push your luck.
You’ve got to find a way to survive the next nine months. And she’s probably given up drinking, which doesn’t help. And you’re probably drinking more, which really doesn’t help. I suggest that, for the entire term of the pregnancy, you stop thinking of yourselves as a married couple, but rather as a company that has just been awarded a contract to build a new person and to deliver that person in brand-new condition, on time and on budget. And if you do it right, you get to keep it. And if you do it wrong, you get to keep it longer.
LABOUR DISPUTES
Everybody knows that delivering a baby is not easy, and sometimes, in the heat of battle, a woman will say hateful things to her husband that he must find a way to ignore. She doesn’t mean any harm; it’s just that she feels a couple should experience everything as equal partners, and at this particular moment he doesn’t seem to be getting his fair share. Here are a few examples of things your wife may say to you at the moment of truth:
• “I’ve decided not to do this.”
• “This can’t be right.”
• “When I’m reincarnated, I’m going to come back as a man and marry you and we’re gonna have fourteen kids.”
• “Change your clothes. I don’t want the baby to meet you in that shirt.”
• “When this is over I’m going to feed you cheese for a month and we’ll see how you like it.”
• “This baby better look like me.”
• “Don’t you ever come near me again.”
• “Don’t look at me with those eyes.”
• “Don’t you dare smile.”
• “We’re not naming the baby after your mom.”
• “If I get through this, I’m taking the rest of my life off.”
A SMALL ADJUSTMENT
After the baby arrives and all is well, the three of you will go home together and start a radically different life. For starters, your days of sleeping with your wife are over. In fact, your days of sleeping at all are over. That’s because you have just been appointed the personal valet to a small being who has no patience, constant needs and a very loud voice.
You’ll be surprised by the strength and persistence of this new life force that has entered your world. You’ll also be surprised at how fast the baby grows. And it does that by processing a lot of milk through a very small digestive system, which means there’s a fair amount of exhaust. Actually, an unfair amount of exhaust.
Now, if you’re a caring father, you will have informed your wife about all the benefits of breastfeeding, even though you will leave out the biggest benefit, which is that she’s the one who has to do it. So to make up for that inequality, your wife may suggest, in a steely-eyed, don’t-mess-with-me kind of way, that you should do the lion’s share of the diaper duty. You may be a little squeamish at first, but you will eventually get your sea legs and may even get to the point where you can change the baby while eating a bowl of stew.
But the irony of all of this is that the baby is changing you a lot more than you’re changing the baby. That’s because everything in your marriage has shifted. There’s a new focus, and it ain’t you.
That can be a good thing. You can get away with stuff when you’re not the centre of attentio
n. Record those half-hour shows that your wife won’t let you watch, like Swamp Gas or Those Crazy Wankers. Then, while your wife is doing the twenty-minute breastfeeding, you can fast-forward through the commercials and watch the whole show before it’s time to change the baby again.
Other than those moments, you and your wife are in survival mode. This baby thing is a huge commitment. It will take most of your energy and most of your resources, both financial and emotional. You need to make sure that your wife knows you see this as a team effort. It’s like any great invention—you can’t just be there for the conception and then hand it over to the hired help. You’ve got to see it through.
Sure, you may eventually get to your wits’ end, but your wife will be there with you, and sometimes it’s easier for two people to find their way back together. On the really dark days, be sure to remind her how much the baby looks like her. In time, the good days will far outnumber the bad.
Throughout the history of the world there’ve been at least fifty couples who didn’t resent having children. More couples resent not having them. So I’d say we’re just a resentful species.
And the weird thing is that when your baby gets to be two or three years old and you’re both being run off your feet, the best solution is to have another one. Sure, it’ll be a couple of years of hell, but after that they’ll be able to tire each other out and you and your wife can get back to being a married couple.
And think of the memories you get from having kids. Nobody sits around in rest homes reminiscing about the time they changed a head gasket on a big-block V8. They think about their kids. And wonder why they don’t visit more often.
LETTER FROM BUSTER
Dear Red, Moose, Stinky, Flinty and any other potential friend that I might otherwise have met over the next three years or so,
I’m writing to inform each of you that I will unfortunately not be able to attend our annual Fishing Derby this weekend, or the one next year or the one after that or maybe ever again for the rest of my natural life. I’m saying this even though we all know I won the derby last year with that largemouth bass.
This is because my wife gave birth to our first child last night. I’m sure many of you heard the screaming. My wife has a pretty good set of lungs. So I’m out of the derby. I’ve got to focus on the baby. It was a little over twenty-seven pounds and measured fourteen inches in girth just below the gills. Man, that was some bass. Probably wouldn’t catch anything that big this year anyway … But the truth is I’m a father now and I need to accept that.
I gotta say, it was not an easy delivery. First thing that went wrong, she comes to me and starts yelling that she’s got to go to the hospital like right then. She wasn’t interested in waiting until the end of overtime or even the next commercial. So I shut off the TV, and it wasn’t easy setting the DVR with her screaming in my ear. Next she tells me that I’ll need to put some pants on because she’s expecting me to come into the hospital with her rather than just drop her off, which I had always understood to be the plan. I complained that there’d be nothing for me to do, but she said they had a TV in the waiting room. So off we go.
Well, she was on my case the whole drive over there. If it wasn’t the speed bumps, it was the potholes—nothing seemed to please her. When we got to the hospital, the nurse asked me how dilated she was. I said I don’t know for sure, but I’ve never seen her eyes that wide open so I’d take that as a clue. The next thing you know they’re handing me a mask and hospital gown. I told them I can’t do this. I don’t even bait my own hooks. They said the doctor would be there. I was just going in to witness the birth. Hey, I would have taken their word for it. All they had to do was come out of the delivery room with a baby and I’d have a pretty good idea where it came from. But oh no, I had to be there.
After that, things moved pretty fast. The nurses relayed the doctor’s instructions. When it was time, I pushed as hard as I could but the door opened in, so I was trapped. Somebody grabbed me and walked me around to where I could see the baby pop out, and I gotta tell you, it’s going to take a long time for me to get that visual de-welded from my brain. The first thing out was the head. It looked like a watermelon coming through an O-ring. Now, I guess for the doctor, it’s something he sees every day (another reason not to be a doctor), but for me it was pretty traumatic. You know how they say in battle some soldiers just get a rush of adrenaline and do something they wouldn’t ordinarily be capable of? That’s what I did. I’ve never passed out before. Didn’t even stay conscious long enough to see if the baby was a pointer or a setter.
Anyway, I’m sure I’ll be back to my normal self in a few days. Not sure I want to have another baby for a while. Maybe you guys could drop by after the derby. I sure wouldn’t mind seeing a picture of the winning fish.
Your ex-fishing buddy,
Buster
DO AS I SAY
As your child learns to walk and talk and have real underwear, you will eventually become aware that this is another completely separate human being with their own agenda and the willpower to get it done.
I know the easy way out is to just let the kid do whatever it wants, but you’ll end up having a miserable life and the child will never develop the characteristics required for success in school or in business or in life, and consequently that child will never move out.
You don’t want that. So you need to do something now to prevent that from happening later. You’re going to have to discipline the child. And I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but that’s going to take a significant effort from you over a considerable period of time.
The sad truth is that the first step in disciplining a child requires that you begin by disciplining yourself. You have to decide what the rules are and then you have to have the guts to enforce them consistently forever. Sometimes it’s just easier to open another six-pack and turn up the TV.
But let’s assume that you’ve finally decided that letting your child run wild has lost its appeal. You’re tired of the broken toys and crayons on the walls and the food on the ceiling. It’s time for a little tough love.
Now, there are situations in your life where you need to be all by yourself, reviewing all the information and devising a plan that will allow you to reach the desired goal. This is not one of those. This is a time where you need your wife to help you build it. You can’t work as a team if you don’t start as a team.
First step: Do you both agree that it’s in everyone’s best interest for the child to have rules? Yes. Next: Are you willing to use discipline to make that happen? Sure … I guess so. Next: What specific form of discipline are you willing to enforce? This will take some discussion. Might be good to have the Penal Code handy. And finally: Are you prepared to make a lifelong commitment to the plan, reviewing the rules regularly, making changes when necessary but always through discussion with your spouse, and most important, maintaining a consistent level of fair discipline, so help me God, till death do us part, amen? Now write that up and both of you sign it. Make three copies. One for you. One for her. One for the safety deposit box.
I know this sounds like overkill, but you both need a constant reminder or you will backslide. Discipline is really hard on most parents. There are a lot of reasons for that. For one thing, you probably weren’t that great a kid and you really weren’t disciplined effectively and you turned out okay, so the hell with it. Plus, you feel guilty disciplining your own child when you did much worse things and got away with them.
Also, you have to deal with your kid’s reaction to the discipline. They may not like it. They may resent you sending them to their room or taking the wheels off their bike or hiding their cigarettes. And they’re shrewd. They will immediately go to their mother to see if she’s as evil as you are. And they’ll start with “Daddy hates me,” implying that if Mom supports Dad, she must hate the kid too.
Mom doesn’t want the kid to think that, so she caves. Or it could just as easily be the dad. We all want our kids to like us becaus
e they can easily slip under the kitchen table and bite you. So discipline is a tricky one.
Some people say discipline is an expression of love, but I’ve seen those movies with the whips and leather outfits and I’m not so sure. I would say consistent, reasonable discipline that’s in the child’s best interest is the way to go. But your wife has to be on board. If she doesn’t want the kid to be disciplined, it ain’t gonna happen. She’ll just find ways to help him misbehave and you’ll have to live with it. But when it eventually breaks up your marriage, if the judge is a man, he’ll make sure she gets the kid.
GO IN PEACE
There is a flaw in the design of cars. It’s due to the ever-changing role of the person in the passenger seat.
If you go back to the origins of the automobile, which is of course the horse-drawn wagon or Conestoga or stagecoach or chuck wagon (or, if you suffer from motion sickness, the upchuck wagon), you will discover that “riding shotgun” literally meant riding shotgun. The passenger’s job was to watch for robbers and hijackers, give them a speedy trial and announce the verdict loud and clear through at least one of the barrels of a three aught three. Over time, most of the robbers decided to pursue safer careers, so the role of the passenger evolved from hired killer to navigator.
That role survived the transition to automobiles, and even as late as the 1970s you’d hear Mom either giving course corrections to Dad or clearing her throat really loudly to indicate he was going the wrong way. But of course, the advent of the GPS ended all that. The driver suddenly had an irrefutable, objective impersonal device that would take him anywhere and never make a judgment or hold a grudge.