Public flatulence not form of entertainment
Maybe I’m out of touch. Maybe I have, indeed become a snarly old man. More likely, it is because the insinuations of a Whoopee Cushion still embarrass me. When my granddaughter in Indiana asked me recently to read her “Walter the Farting Dog,” I refused, assuming the book was something someone had stashed in her bookcase as a joke to be a discovered by her parents later – like the deck of playing cards featuring naked, morbidly obese women a friend hid where my housecleaners would be sure to find it.
When I returned to Spokane, I saw that one of the authors was reading “Walter” at Auntie’s. He said the book was a story of acceptance and turning liabilities into assets. In a book review, Spokesman-Review writer Dan Webster said “Walter the Farting Dog” has sold over a million copies, was the first in a series, and has inspired a line of children’s toys as well as a movie. Children’s toys? I can only imagine. I mean, I read the book. What kind of kid’s toy does a flatulent mutt inspire? How many children will gain a better understanding of heroism and acceptance because of Walter’s gaseous condition and the toys his “condition” emboldens?
Public flatulence is not polite. I know men (including myself) who would rather explode and die before passing gas in mixed company. Yeah, yeah, I know. Men “cut loose” at their poker parties, make it a contest around the campfire, and I must assume women do it, too, and laugh hysterically when they’re out with the gals. Thankfully, this is just speculation. Nevertheless, I do not want my grandkids to think public flatulence is a form of high entertainment in any situation. I particularly don’t want them to think it is as OK as breathing or sweating. I’m certainly not going to read them a book about it.
As for the authors’ contentions that the book is also about compassion, I beg to disagree. The book is about healthy royalties, decaying standards in children’s literature, and our ever-increasing tendency to equate potty humor with what is incorrectly perceived as a healthy and necessary shucking of our Puritan heritage. It’s not a terrible book, but it is a cheap book – cheap in that a hitherto gross, unacceptable-in-polite-company inability to control flatulence is extolled in the name of entertainment.
If we giggle, it is because we are uncomfortable or shocked or because we don’t want anyone to think we are prudish or without enlightenment. The authors could have created the same story line with a number of different handicaps for poor Walter … but it wouldn’t have sold a million copies.
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. We love our incongruities – the differences between the way things are and the way they should be. Where, however, will this line of children’s literature lead us? Can I look forward to other “adorable” pets with questionable to gross dispensations? Those in the entertainment industry (including writers) want to be seen as creative, edgy, willing to push the envelope. Where will this take us? There is already a conspicuous and steady downward spiral in adult literature, movies, and television.
“Walter the Farting Dog” erodes the sensibilities just a little bit more, this time as an excuse for children’s “literature.” Ye gads, people. I’m no prude, but this isn’t about sophistication and honesty. This is about 3-year-olds. And even if I’m overreacting, that’s a God-given grandparent entitlement. Obviously, my grandchildren’s parents purchased the book. That may be a reflection on me. It doesn’t mean I can’t be disappointed, though.