Once when I was in elementary school, a classmate in a seat near me became ill, stood up, and proceeded to lose his lunch, right there on the floor. I soon did the same, not because I had been ill, but because I was born with a very weak stomach.
I largely am still that way.
When autumn rolls around, you’ll catch my family and me at the local corn maze, but you probably won’t see me in line at the port-a-potty. If there’s a bad smell – even the thought of it – I sometimes struggle to keep my composure. I even nearly got sick once watching an episode of “Man v. Wild,” when Bear Grylls drank something I’d rather not mention. I quickly turned it off.
I do, though, change diapers – even the super-messy ones. When my wife and I were anticipating the birth of our first child, I determined well beforehand that I was going to help in every aspect of childrearing, even the ones that sometimes repel fathers.
I figure that if I can change diapers, any father can. Of course, we seem to be living in a new age of fatherhood, when men do chores their fathers once avoided. Still, I’m sure there are fathers out there who are squeamish when it comes to diapers, particularly “poopies.”
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