Using the Phenomenology of Farts to Teach My Son About Racism My son is ten, and recently he asked me something about racism. And in the middle of it, he farted. “Dad, with racism, are there like, y’know, different typ—BRRRRRrrrrRRRRppp.” Breaker of winds, first of his name, my son has no self-consciousness about producing some natural energy. For him, the sound of flatus rippling flesh is a precious gift,…