Not for Your Viewing Pleasure

Someone is soooooo proud of himself tonight, because he pooped in the potty for the first time all by himself. Yeah, no; it's not Phil. At this point in his life, he would have writhed in a state of blissed-out superbia had I just done what he wanted (Kane, that is) and taken a picture of the so-called fruits of his labor. He would have stared at the picture for hours and said "poop" over and over again, just to make sure I knew that was indeed his, and did I understand the magnitude of his accomplishment? If he knew such technology existed, he may even have figured out a way to ask me to enlarge the picture a bit, buy a nice, tasteful frame for it, and place it in the living room next to the photos of the family. And I considered briefly doing this for him, if only for the dividends it would have paid unto me in the future, like, say, when he's 5, or 10, or 15, or 20 ... Then I thought of an old neighbor of my cousins, who was a stereotypical frat boy in the making in high school, and who, during one party at his house during his sophomore year (no, the significance of that word is not lost on me, I assure you), had gathered a crowd of boys into ihs bathroom to gaze in wonder at the enormous beer and chips turd he had expelled from his person. They took pictures, I kid you not. Imagine being the poor clerk at the Photo Hut, circa 1988. I thought of this, and figured that my boy would learn to be proud, yes, but would also learn to exit from the loo with a quiet grace. For, gentle readers, we may all have had the singular experience of gazing in wonder at that which we have wrought, but it takes a special person to let it go with diginty. (* cue the flushing sound*)