My husband is Brazilian and I’m American, so we are doing our best to raise our kids bilingually. We both speak each other’s language as well, so the kids can talk to either of us in either language and be understood. Unfortunately, since they’re being raised in the U.S. they tend to opt for English 99% of the time. We do our best to stick with Portuguese when we talk to them so they at least hear it on a regular basis, and for the most part they do understand everything that is said to them. They just tend to answer in English–except for when it comes to farting.

There are numerous advantages to being bilingual, including all the long-term benefits like being able to function in at least two different countries, and hopefully eventually being able to get better jobs because of it. One of the more overlooked advantages; however, is certain undesirable words can be said in the non-local tongue, and embarrassment avoided because of it. This is what has happened in our house when it comes to farting. It is the one vocabulary word all three of my children know  in Portuguese, and I believe my two younger children may not even know the English equivalent. We’ve worked hard to keep it this way. They still know it’s a funny word, and no fart goes undetected in this house. My three year old will gladly inform us, “Ah! Daddy peidou!” whenever it is appropriate–the phrase, not the action. They tattle on each other and then giggle about it, and thankfully, if we’re out in public, it’s just a family inside joke. Well, until the result can be noticed by passers-by. Hopefully by then we’re long gone.

So when did we discover that it might not have been such a wonderful idea to keep our kids monolingual about farting? When we took a trip back to Brazil to visit family, that’s when! There was nothing more embarrassing than the first time our kids’ cousin, Gustavo, who was ten, tried to discretely take care of a fart in the corner only to be ratted out by one of our children. “Gustavo peidou!” my youngest came to inform me gleefully. Meanwhile, Gustavo is vehemently insisting that he did no such thing, while his mother gives him a surprised look and an admonition that that wasn’t good manners. Her surprised look was probably due as much to her own son’s farting as to the fact that she had heard very little Portuguese out of our kids’ mouths until that moment. As I mentioned before, they understand everything, but they aren’t very good at actually answering in their father’s native tongue. I think her mental eyebrows were raised at that point, wondering what other secrets we had hidden away in those little brains. Was take a crap and go to hell part of their vocabulary, too? (Thankfully, the answer is, No!)

Luckily, it became a joke with family down there as well, and our kids’ cousins quickly learned that farting was something to do well out of earshot of their weird American cousins. I’ve still kept them in the dark about how to say it in English, although my daughter’s now in school. I’m sure she’ll find out soon enough. In the meantime, at our house it’s just another peido.