by Clifford Kurt

Created on: July 06, 2009

My poor children: three beautiful apples which didn't fall too far from the neurotic tree that is their Father.

They're grown now, our youngest having turned 19 a few weeks ago. Soon, no more teenagers.

They each have their own distinct personalities. One is serious, one is so NOT serious she can't even define the word serious, and one is funny as heck.

All my kids have great senses of humor, but my poor son, Cliff Jr., picked up my genetic clown code. (Check out the human genome. Seriously. There's a gene called BOZO-84225, and it's either dominant or recessive, I'm not sure which.)

This morning, my son discovered writings on my blog and we text messaged a bit about it. Texting with Cliff Jr. is odd it's usually 5:00 AM and I'm sitting on the MARC train waiting to depart for Washington, DC. My day is one hour going already. But 5:00 AM for Cliff is when his evening is coming to an end and he's about to go to bed.

In the course of discussion about my blog, Cliff wrote, "You need to make this into a book. It would be a good book to read on the toilet. Short, funny stories. It's making me want to poop. Take that as nice as you can."

I didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or rewrite my will. Okay, truth is, I laughed. Out loud. To the dismay of my fellow MARC riders settling into their sleep modes. But heck with 'em, this was funny!

Poo seems to be a common theme with Cliff Jr. (I wonder why). When he and his sisters would play Mad-Libs, his would read like:

"Ladies and gentlemen, on this poopy occasion, it is a privilege to address such a poopish-looking group of stools. I can tell from your smiling turds that you will support my crappy program in the coming election. I promise that, if elected, there will be feces in every toilet and two floaters in every garage. I want to warn you against my smelly opponent, Mr. Hanky. This man is nothing but a slimy drop. He has a stoolish character and is working bm in with the criminal element. If elected, I promise to eliminate vice. I will keep the poops in the public till. I promise you squeezy government, foul taxes, and crappy schools."

When the children were very young, I would sing lines from Christmas carols and see how they'd finish them:

Oh the weather outside is _____: frightful (Amy), snowing (Liz), poop (Cliff)
And the fire is so _____: delightful (Amy), hot (Liz), poop (Cliff)
And since there's no place to _____: go (Amy), go (Liz), poop (Cliff)
Let it _____: snow (Amy), snow (Liz), poop (Cliff)
Let it _____: snow (Amy), snow (Liz), poop (Cliff)
Let it _____: snow (Amy), snow (Liz), poop (Cliff)

Maybe it's because he's a boy. Maybe us boys grown and ungrown - have a fascination with shock value. Or maybe he needs to be evaluated. I'll let his some-day wife and his health insurance provider make that decision. For now, it's all good. He's not smearing things on the walls (that I know of) or pooing in his sister's lemonade (that she knows of). If this really were a problem, his Mom wouldn't have to yell at him to clean up the dog's mess in the front yard.

So for now, we'll indulge his healthy poo fascination and chalk it up to a case of Cliffs will be Cliffs. And for you, good reader, if you wish to learn more about poo, visit your local library. Or screen the film The Road to Wellville. Fascinating!

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