Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: MONDAY, October 30, 1995 TAG: 9510300063
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: BARBARA BROTMAN CHICAGO TRIBUNE
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
That staple of family fun, of course, is belching.
Is there a child who does not dissolve into laughter at a hearty burp? Not in our house. The bodily function occupies a place of honor in our family, a much-admired pursuit whose successful - and loudest - practitioners are rewarded with shrieks of glee and entreaties for more.
The entertainment value of burping on command came as something of a surprise to me. Oh, I knew that pre-pubescent boys have raised the process to an art form, complete with rhythm, melody and volume control.
But with young daughters, I thought I was safely insulated from intentional displays of indigestion. Beyond teaching my girls to excuse themselves, I figured, I could forget about the whole thing.
My misunderstanding of burping's appeal became clear one day at dinner. Midsentence, our 4-year-old was interrupted by a call of digestive nature and burped loudly through a word.
This amazing feat was greeted with howls of glee by both the burper and her delighted older sister. My husband, sensing an appreciative audience, took a big swig of his root beer and let fly.
I hate to perpetuate stereotypes, but in this regard, women may be at something of a disadvantage. Men seem able to produce impressive burps of considerable volume and deep, full-throated timbre. Moreover, they tend to be more willing to do it, possibly because they were once pre-pubescent boys themselves.
Even nature appears to award males the dominant burping role. According to ``Are You Normal?'' a compendium of odd statistics, men belch 4.7 times a day, while women stick to a prim 2.1.
My husband proved a credit to his sex. Although he normally is the most gracious of diners, he sacrificed his manners to put on a masterful show for his daughters.
They were beside themselves. Our 4-year-old hiccuped furiously through her laughter as she tried to catch her breath. ``Do it again, Daddy; do it again!'' begged the 7-year-old.
Left out of the frivolity was old mom, who turned out to be a big disappointment in the belching department. Unwilling to swallow air or drink root beer, the best I could manage was the occasional natural occurrence, with a sound as unprepossessing as a baby frog's.
I was relegated to being just another appreciative spectator, while my husband ascended to his role as leader of the belching pack, the Alpha Burper.
Naturally, they tried to imitate him. As babies, the girls had shown some talent in this area. On a few occasions, pats on their infant backs had produced ``BRAAAAAAP''s worthy of a stevedore.
But now they had graduated from reflex to voluntary performance. And they were working under a handicap: They do not drink soda.
At first, they could do no more than say the word ``burp'' loudly. But before long, the 4-year-old had mastered the art of swallowing air and was doing it so proficiently that she was burping through the entire reading of the bedtime story.
Who can deny the appeal? Burping combines children's instinctive fascination with bodily functions with a sense of pride in accomplishment. In burping, children see a first musical performance, a digestive recital on the instrument that needs no carrying case. Why wouldn't their parents be proud?
In private, on occasion, we come close. It is not so much pride as pleasure in their ecstasy. We laugh at them laughing, with a respectful feeling of something close to envy at their ability to get so much joy out of someone else's carbonated beverage.
(Barbara Brotman is a columnist for the Chicago Tribune)
by CNB