My witch of a teacher wouldn’t let me use the restroom inside our classroom, despite my repeated pleading that I had to go. And when my thimble bladder could no longer hold it, I had no choice but to let it go…all over myself and the floor. I suppose I could have just gone in the bathroom and taken my lumps afterwards, that’s what I would have done nowadays with years of experience, rebelliousness, and flippant indifference behind me. But back then, I was a diehard rule follower, so I stayed where I was told and peed in my chair. And as I sat there drenched in the acrid smell of urine, feeling embarrassed and guilty, my teacher decided that the best course of action was to get mad at me for letting it get to that point. As if I had sat in silence and hadn’t told her that I needed to go…repeatedly. Because although I might have been a rule follower, I was also a talker. (I would later have issues with my teachers because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut, but that’s a whole other story.) But her angry reaction wasn’t much of a stretch, because anger was her usual demeanor. She was a poor choice for a kindergarten teacher.
SIDE NOTE: Funny enough, she transferred to be the third grade teacher after that year, and I ended up having to have that angry witch all over again a few years later. She wasn’t much better as a third grade teacher either. In fact, in eighth grade, I had her husband, who also taught at the school, and he was pretty mean as well. I had a separate run-in with him in second grade too, since he was the music teacher back then. There was something downright joyless in that family. Although, if I had to be married to his witch of a wife, maybe I would have been joyless too!
Anyway, my mother was called to come and get me, since back then, nobody thought to have a second set of clothes on hand for such accidents. As I sat there under the judgmental and mocking eyes of my fellow classmates, I was increasingly terrified of my mother’s impending wrath. I was fully convinced that I had committed some egregious sin…mostly because that’s what my kindergarten teacher had just gotten done bashing me over the head with. And being a surprisingly good kid back then, I didn’t do well with failure or letting my parents down.
It turns out that I was right to fear my mother’s impending wrath, or it would be more accurate to say that my teacher should have feared it. If she smugly thought she had an ally in my mother, that was quickly dispelled. My mother let her have it…right in front of every one of those wide-eyed shocked little faces…none more shocked than myself. I had never seen my mother go off on someone in my defense before, and it was a sight to behold. I mean, I had been the recipient of that tempest before, but I’d never seen it unleashed on someone else…for me. And she didn’t stop there. When my mother got done reducing my teacher to a stuttering lump, she stormed into the principal’s office and laid into him too. The wreaking dark pee stain spread all over the red outfit I was wearing serving as the centerpiece of her gesticulations.
But through it all, I wasn’t relieved or happy. I feared what awaited me. I mean, if she had this reaction with these pillars of authority, then how much worse would it be for the cause of all of this mess. She had to leave work early to come and get me. She had to drive all the way home smelling my soiled clothing in the car. She had to waste the rest of the day looking after me. I had messed up her day. And she WAS livid all the way home. But to her credit, none of it was ever directed at me. She was mad at the system that had failed her baby boy and allowed him to ever feel such embarrassment. And although I was too scared to really appreciate it then, I’m proud of my mother now.
You’re probably wondering why I shared this incredibly long and personal story with you about myself on a blog about my son. Well, today, my wife got a call from the school that Troy had waited too long to tell the teacher that he needed to go to the bathroom, and he’d peed all over himself. As I successively got a call from my wife, flashbacks of my own incident In kindergarten came back to me. My heart immediately went out to Troy. I could only imagine the fear and embarrassment that he must be feeling, and I wanted desperately to take it away. So, I packed up a plastic bag with new, fresh clothes and a pack of wet wipes, and I hopped in the car to go get him.
I laughed at the irony of our lives traveling down similar arcs, albeit forty years apart. But where our stories diverged was that I knew that his teacher was sweet and kind. And I knew his school was doing everything to reassure him and take care of him. I found my little boy in the nurse’s office, curled up in a chair, fear and embarrassment etched across his face. When he saw me walk through the door, panic filled his blue eyes. But all of that soon dissolved as I walked across the room, took him in my arms, and kissed him on the head. He clung to me, and I rubbed his back, telling him that it was all okay. Then, I asked him if he wanted to change his wet clothes, and he nodded.
We walked into the nurse’s bathroom and got him cleaned up, using the plastic bag to hold his soiled clothes. I wasn’t angry at him, and I didn’t make him feel guilty. In fact, we didn’t even talk about the elephant in the room. We were just two dudes changing clothes in a bathroom…no big deal. Honestly, I wasn’t even going to bring up the peeing incident. He’d been through enough, and he didn’t need to keep reliving it. But Troy brought it up himself on the car ride home, so I reassured him again that it was just an accident, and it happened to everyone. Then, I told him my story of how it had happened to me in kindergarten as well. He was genuinely surprised, and I think that was the moment when he finally gave himself some grace. Picturing your father peeing himself has a calming and comical effect on you. And if he can be alright, then so can you.
Maybe God let me go through that experience so long ago, so I would be better equipped to handle this incident today. Because I had been in his shoes and I knew firsthand what he was going through, I knew exactly how I wanted to react to him, so all he felt was love, and support, and reassurance, and relief. I may not always do fathering right, but I think I had a win today. And as much as it pains me to say it, I’m thankful to God for letting me go through that traumatic experience so long ago, so I could be there for my son today.
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