MARY ANN FITZMORRIS

Cruel and unusual punishment Blue poo. I’ll let that sit there for a minute for you to imagine the possibilities. Blue poo, in it’s most literal sense, could not possibly wreak any more havoc around this house than just the two words. My boy is growing up. It started with a movie. Naturally. In this otherwise charming film some of the cast members occasionally found themselves at a loss for words. “Aw, shucks!” being as terribly outdated as it is, these people used the phrase, “Bite me!” Such an idea is simply irresistible to a young man tottering on the brink of pubescence. “Bite me!” became enough of an anthem around this house for me to actually respond literally whenever he said it. Evidently I was not literal enough, because he was completely undeterred by any punishment I offered, including teeth marks. My daughter joined in the frivolity by demanding that I bite him whenever he said it. Faced with the choice of having to actually draw blood, and tired of chewing on him, I resorted to the method exasperated mothers have used throughout time. I called Dad. Dad was unaware of how firmly entrenched this phrase had become in only two days. He demanded that the child never utter the words, “Bite me!” again. My son, always eager to please Dad, immediately complied. When he found himself at a loss for words, he absolutely didn’t dare say “Bite me!.” Instead, he declared, “Bite my blue poo.” Thirty years ago such a child would have immediately been rendered toothless, but that sort of thing has become profoundly distasteful. My husband was left to say, “I told you not to use Bite me!’ anymore!” secretly hoping that my son would be struck with selective and temporary amnesia. He wasn’t. What’s more, he even obeyed my husband. He completely dropped the phrase, “Bite me!” from his repertoire. Unfortunately, he replaced it with the simple but existential utterance, “Blue poo.” My daughter is working overtime now. With the tenacity and fever to outshine a network news hound, she always manages to be within earshot of any utterance of “Blue poo”, and reports it with lightning speed. Her up-to-the-minute news flashes are designed to call my husband to action, and they have. He is exercising full parental adult authority, and taking it to new levels. Whenever my son drops the offending line, he gets…an Indian burn. The children have become absolutely frenetic with the possibilities of this new, very elementary punishment. The round of activity is as follows: My son starts the ball rolling with the simple declaration, “Blue poo.” My daughter runs around screaming to anyone who will listen, “He said it! He said it!,” whereupon my son dispenses the first Indian burn to her. She wails as she studies the skin on her arm getting red, then my son receives his own Indian burn from my husband. I watch this insanity wishing someone would give me an Indian burn that might prove to be fatal. Now I understand how one of my friends feels. She has a lovely daughter who is completely hooked on burping as sport. This little girl has the face of a china doll, dresses like a fashion plate, and has taken enough courses on manners to have a bachelor of etiquette degree. Ironically, this very young lady has been enjoying the cheap thrill of loudly burping on command for years. No one but her commands it, but that is of no matter, since she offers this treat fairly often. The first time she does it, it is shocking. Her mother, who is quite the lady herself, gasps audibly, then asks, “What do you say?” I begin to think I’m watching a vaudeville show as the little girl breaks into a sly smile and replies, “Cool!” The mother, with a look of resignation, resumes what she is saying. Unlike my son’s new distasteful phase, this burping habit has gone on so long there is nothing to do but wait until she tires of it. But it probably could have been eradicated long, long ago. They were no doubt using those more conventional but less effective punishments. If only someone had reminded the mother of Indian burns. MARY ANN FITZMORRIS writes this column regularly for L’Observateur.