School Daze

.One of many in a classroom full of fresh-face kindergartners. Reading about Dick and Jane and Spot. Raising our hands to answer questions on what we read. I know the material, reading comes naturally, my people read to me. Some kids struggle, having to sound out the words one letter at a time. It's got to be hard, I just want to do it for them. All of the sudden, I get a familiar tingle. Oh no! I have to go. I raise my hand. But there's a sea of hands up in the air. Some kids are practically jumping out of their little wooden chairs in an effort to get chosen to give the answer. The questions are so cinchy, as we used to say. But, I'm back several rows and she can't see the quiet little new girl. I tuck my leg up under my bum, making me taller but allowing me to remain obediently in my seat. I really have to go. What do I do? I'm torn between bodily necessity and having to be a good girl. I must be a good girl. I can't make anybody angry. I must obey.

My little bladder gives out and I pee right there on my little wooden chair, my dress, my socks. There's no way to hide. I am devastated and mortified, though I don't yet know those words. Finally, the teacher picks me and I tell her that there's water on my chair. Now everybody knows. Someone says that I peed. I maintain that there was water on my chair. They know but I lie. Teacher escorts me out to the office and rustles up dry clothes to wear. She asks me why I didn't ask to go. I tried, I think. But, I say, there was water on my chair.

That was a traumatic event in my life at that point in time. It's illustrative of the internal conflict and my willingness to distort the truth and deny the facts in a stressful situation. It is indicative of who I used to be.