When You Gotta Go, You Gotta Go

Back when I was a little kid, and we're talking twenty some-odd years ago, I went to daycare after school. It was fairly normal, as far as daycares go. After school, I would be accompanied by other children and a teacher as we walked around the corner to the other school where daycare was hosted. This also happened pretty much immediately after the bell rang, as well, which meant we needed to form a line in the hallway quickly and wait for a teacher. Only then could we leave the building.

Once we were at the other school, we were ushered into a single classroom where we would remain until a parent came to get us. Some kids would leave soon after, some of us would stay for a few hours at a time. I fell into the latter category. My dad worked and my mom had a lot to do before we came home. I didn’t mind, as I made some good friends while I was there and the time would fly by!

Anyway, one day I was there and was playing with my friends. I was also wearing overalls, which is important. Around the time, I was five or six years old, and my bladder was smaller than I was. Like I said, I was playing with my friends, and I suddenly felt the urge to pee. I knew I had to go badly and that my little bladder wouldn’t be able to hold it much longer, so I ran up to one of the ladies who ran the daycare and asked her if I could go the bathroom. She told me I had to wait until our snack break. I didn’t want to push it so I decided to try and wait it out.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t really working. I walked up to her again and told her I really had to go. She told me no again, but this time I wouldn’t take no for an answer. I can look back on that now and realize she couldn’t leave the other kids alone to accompany me and couldn’t let me go by myself. I kept telling her how bad I had to go until she finally relented and told me to go to the bathroom and nowhere else. I bolted out of the room and ran as fast as I could to the bathroom across the hall. In hindsight, it was probably not a good idea to overexert myself when I was on the verge of peeing myself. As soon as I entered the hallway, I started peeing, I was worried someone would see me and ran into the bathroom. I was able to get into a stall, finally, but I was held up trying to get the buttons out of the hooks of my overalls, which caused me to pee a little more.

Finally, I was able to get them off and finish my business, as if it even mattered at that point. I walked out to the sink to wash my hands and was trying to desperately think of some way to explain the giant wet spot on the front of my pants. I stared at myself in the mirror and had my own six-year-old existential crisis. The pitiful explanation I decided on was that the faucet of the sink had sprayed me. Now, I thought that was genius at the time. Currently, I’m thinking of why I didn’t account for the smell or the teacher checking the sink. Satisfied with my decision, I walked back to the classroom covering myself a little. I walked back in and smiled at my teacher before rejoining my friend on the rug. I tried to play it off before I felt too embarrassed to, and confessed to my friend that I peed my pants. She sort of just looked at me and then ignored it. I was so embarrassed that I didn’t tell anyone until my mom came to pick me up.

My takeaway? Teachers need to let kids go to the bathroom when they ask the first time!