the Change I Wish to See

Gratefully coaxed by LivitLuvit and inspired by the Top 7 Embarrassing Relics from Arjewtino's childhood, I've decided to hop on that TMI bandwagon with a horribly-kept childhood secret.

"What childhood?" you say.  "You show no propensity for having been anything other than a pod," you say.  Well.  Feast thine eyes on this:

But right, the story -

It was a day.  Kind of like a day that deserves a modifying adjective, but I don't even remember what season it was so that will have to do.

It was science class, 6th grade.  6th grade was the year when Mrs. Carlsberg inexplicably revealed that her secret sandwich stash was behind the map in an unknown cabinet in the back of the classroom, and then proceeded to eat said sandwich in front of us at her desk.  It was also the year you traveled to every single class with the same 30 eleven-year olds.  Roy W. Brown Middle School treated student scheduling a little like 1950s Mississippi treated races - intermingling only during athletics.  This is important.  It meant when Gretel intercepted the note Jack passed to Jill in homeroom, the whole peanut gallery gabbed about it for the next 6 hours, in front of them both.*

A child of somewhat recent divorce, a year younger than all of my classmates, black in northern Jersey - let's just say I had a few reasons to be insecure and had no greater hope in life than to not rock the boat and draw attention to myself.  For instance, I never left class without being asked; never.  I took that to the extreme, on this, that day for which I wish had a modifying adjective.

It was several minutes into class when it hit me.  There'd been no warning when my bladder went from

Any other kid would've grabbed the lavatory pass.  A few would've just hopped up and left sans-permission - those that understood there to be a silent agreement between themselves and Mr. Lichter that an emergency was indeed its namesake.

Not me.  Thought about the pass.  Vetoed it out of a sense of allegiance to a comprehensive attendance policy that included staying in my damn seat.  Thought about just running out.  Vetoed it out of a sense of obedience to the order of things.  Though about -

Actually I don't remember any other ideas.  I was interrupted by the flood in my pants.  I peed myself.  Heavily.  On what I'm pretty sure were khaki colored shorts.  Humiliated as much by the defeat of my willpower as the growing stain on my crotch, butt, thighs and chair, I stood up to -

Nope.  I sat in it.  Waded in it a bit.  For a whole lot of seconds, like more than a minute.  Someone watching might have thought I was attempting to soak it back in via osmosis.  I sat in my puddled chair and just blinked.  Soon I began to smell it.  And everyone knows that when it involves something that came out of you, once you can smell it someone else probably already has.  So I gave in, almost.  I raised my hand and politely insisted that there was a leak in the ceiling or something.  Mr. Lichter (bless his heart) walked over, checked out the ceiling, looked at my pants.  Everyone else did the same from their seats.  I know he didn't believe me, but he put on the best poker face you can possibly play when you look down and realize that your hand is really just a bunch of Uno cards and you're playing holdem.  But I don't think anyone else in class actually doubted what happened.  Especially that kid** in the back who shouted "He peed himself!" as I dripped, soaking, out of class.

I wet my pants at 10 in science class and waded in the puddle far longer than healthy.  There you go.



*If you don't realize the actual names have been changed...
**Hate that kid.