A Declamation on Defecation

I recently commented to a friend about my enjoyment in my college freshman French of Rabelais and especially his search for a perfect arse-wipe. She had been unimpressed with Rabelais’ efforts; when I mentioned its relevance to one growing up in rural Iowa, she decided that her experience growing up in New York City gave her a very different understanding. This led me to remember some other aspects of my youth which provided the basis for this essay. I’ll share the relationship of Rabelais to my experience first and then expose some very personal observations.

My explorations were far simpler than those of Rabelais. On my cousin’s farm where they lacked indoor plumbing, on occasion we found Montgomery Ward catalogs rather than toilet paper in the outhouse. But in those days where porta-potties were non-existent when you were out in the fields, we developed alternatives. Various kinds of tree leaves were possibilities; maple leaves were larger; elm leaves were a bit scratchy. Perhaps the best choice was fresh corn cobs. Older cobs were an option but like the elm leaves were scratchy. So, finding Rabelais’ identification of a goose neck as ideal, I could really identify with his experiments but it wouldn’t have done any good on our Iowa farm; we didn’t raise geese!

An enduring memory from my first year in country school with its outdoor toilets was one catastrophic event. My mother sat me down on the toilet at home every morning after breakfast to have a bowel movement. This worked very well and I didn’t need to ever have a B.M. at school until that fateful day. I and all my peers wore bib-overalls, not jeans, just like our dads. This meant that one had to unfasten a bib strap to deliver #2. Somehow, I got the strap tangled and fowled so badly that the teacher called my mother and asked her to come and take me home. I don’t remember ever being teased by anyone or chastised by either the teacher or my mother but the episode created a deep scar.

To this day, most mornings when I brush my teeth after breakfast, I sit on the toilet and the two minutes of brushing provide just the right amount of time for a daily constitutional. I wonder whether this effort is associated as an indelible legacy of that ritual my mother established 76 years ago or whether it is something common to many adults. Clearly, it is not universal; my wife’s practice is totally different! And the issue has never come up in any discussion that I’ve had with anyone.