I've always firmly believed that everyone has one special super-talent that can be used for the betterment of humanity. Aquaman talked to fish. Dirk Diggler had his magic wand. And me? If I lay my hands on you, I can make you burp.
We first discovered this power three years ago with Robert, and I've uncannily maintained it since. My wife will nurse TwoBert until he pulls off and makes his body as rigid as possible, his face seized in a rictus of trapped gas. She will go through all the proper burping motions, cuddle, caress, cajole, all to no avail. Then I will reach for him, and he'll launch some sort of air biscuit before his chin reaches my shoulder.
It's something you truly can't appreciate until you see it for yourself. Once, I just reached over and caressed his smooth little noggin, and he Gumbled loudly enough to startle the cat. I've been experimenting with different ways to make as little contact as possible, with mixed results. One day, I hope to be able to do it telekinetically and just walk the Earth, easing the pressure in infantile G.I. tracts.
We've also found, however, that this power only works within a person's first year of life. I suppose it's for the best; otherwise, receiving lines could become really awkward.