I am reshelving books and generally bouncing giddily around my newly remodeled classroom while seven or eight students work in my room after school. I rush next door for a minute to find out if we're still planning to go out tomorrow after school. When I return, one student is on the floor, howling in laughter. All the others are chuckling heartily albeit less dramatically.
"You don't even want to know," Charles says.
"I imagine I don't," I say, "so don't tell me and get back to work."
They try. They really try. But they can't hold it together. Finally, Charles blurts out, "Jordan farted!" And they all lose it again.
I am reminded of a time in eighth grade when my best friend let out a ladylike little toot in U.S. History, then daintily raised two fingers and squeaked, "Excuse me." Mr. Fitzgerald left the room so we could all enjoy a laugh. I imagine he needed one too.
I tell this story while laughing with them. Sarah looks up from her math and says, "You have to admit: farting is funny."
There is a thirteen year old in all of us.
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