Published: February 09, 2009 03:28 pm      

THEREFORE I AM: Devious bladders can lead to cold salmon

Will Rogers said he never met a man he didn't like. I kind of doubt it, but that's OK — coming up with clever sayings was Will's shtick. My kids' shtick is decidedly different. My children have never met a public restroom they didn't like. I'm not sure which one of those predilections is harder to understand.

It's gotten to the point where anytime I walk into a public building with my kids I immediately take them to the restrooms. We do not pass go. We do not collect $200. We don't look at menus. We make a beeline (a weeline?) to the restrooms. I don't care if they need "to go" or not because it's just a matter of time before they insist that they must use the facilities. At least when I preemptively take them it's on my terms, when it's convenient for me — or so I thought.

It seems that my kids' yearning to see every public toilet in the Western world — on their terms — has made them devious and weak-bladdered. Let me paint the scene: The four of us walk into a restaurant. As usual, the first thing I do is ask everyone to go to the restroom. (Well, not everyone — my kids, specifically; it would be rather awkward to ask everyone in the restaurant to potty at once.)

Phil and I go to the men's, and Anna and my wife go to the women's. Badda big, badda boom, and we're done. Without the preemptive bathroom strike, you can bet your stimulus check that Phil, Anna or both would announce that they need "to go," probably at the precise moment the entree was being served.

Sure, visiting the bathroom before you even glance at a menu is kind of annoying, but it beats the prospect of going while your dinner is getting cold.

But remember how I said the kids are devious? Well, in addition to "needing" to go to the restroom before the meal, now the kids insist that they have to to go — again! — during the meal. These are the same kids who can spend four uninterrupted hours running around outside with their little friends and not stop once to come inside for a potty break. Now, suddenly, with a public restroom weaving its hypnotic siren song, the kids can't help but crash on the rocks.

I'm not a heartless ogre. If my kids say they need to go to the bathroom, I take them to the bathroom, even if my blackened salmon is getting cold. Sometimes the restroom is nearby enough and we'll just let them go it alone. That's best of all, but not always the case.

What I don't like, however, is being lied to. If my son tells me he needs to go to the restroom 15 minutes after I just took him, and if, while I'm in the restroom with him the second time, I don't hear "evidence" that he truly did need to go, he's going to hear it from me. If you tell me you need to do something and it turns out you really didn't need to do it, you're lying to me. I don't like to be lied to. Show me someone who does.

Is all of this the worse transgression a 6- or 7-year-old can perpetrate on their parents? Of course not, but even the dimmest parent should know that if you let a small lie slide now, the lies will only get bigger and bigger over the years.

Anyway, I don't know what's in there that they find so appealing. I can't speak with authority about the women's room, but a men's room is nowhere you want to spend your free time. Some are better than others, but Phil seems to be drawn to the worst ones. Maybe he thinks the dirt and grime add character. I don't know. Perhaps he's secretly working on a book detailing and rating the public restrooms in greater Knox County, like a Zagat for urinals from the perspective of someone who's 42 inches tall.

I'm not sure what Anna's story is, but since she's a girl I can only presume that she's working on an entirely different bathroom protocol. It's just a matter of time before she begins herding to the restroom with other females.

Surely even Will Rogers met some real jerks in his time.

David Spates is a Knoxville resident and Crossville Chronicle contributor whose column is published each Tuesday. He can be reached at davespates@tds.net.