Terror From The Toilet

As a kid, I shit my pants a lot.?

It’s the truth. I was a serial shitter.?

Up until the age of about 6, there wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t drop a load in my little tike underwear. The S on the Superman print had a faint brown stain that would never go away.?

Before I continue, I would like to say that I will be using the word shit a lot. I know I could use the word defecate, but I feel that doesn’t have the right pizzazz as the word shit does.?

Defecate seems too clinical like a Veterinarian asking if Inky is having a difficult time defecating at the dog park. It just doesn’t seem to flow as smoothly.?

So shit it is. Just a heads up.?

Back to shitting in my pants. I should also mention that pissing was a problem too. It was just something about going into the bathroom that my young mind revolted against.?

I hated the feeling of cold porcelain against my bare bottom. That, and it was like trying to climb a mountain when I had to pee. I had to practice my arch which I always ended up missing the bowl.?

And that resulted in my Mom telling me I had to sit down when I needed to pee. More cold porcelain. Hence more accidents in my pants.

Whenever I felt the need to go, I held it in. I would hide in corners of the house with my legs crossed until the rumbling in my bowels would end.?

After a few minutes, I was back to playing whatever it was I was doing.?

Any public outing at some point would result in my mother and I huddled in a bathroom stall as she cleaned off my backside. No rest for the wicked, or in her case from the only child she had who refused to use the bathroom.?

There’s nothing like a fire hydrant of urine pouring out of a 5-year-old at the supermarket, church, or anywhere outside of our house.?

I don’t know why I refused to use the bathroom. If I had to guess, I didn’t like being interrupted from playing. Once I was in the zone of a game, a coloring book, or an action figure, a simple bowel movement wasn’t worth the attention.??

That, and it all seems so yucky. Like who designed our plumbing??

One afternoon my grandmother came over and the three of us took a bus to the doctor. I imagined my mother was fed up with having to clean me up daily.

I remember him asking me questions. He put the stethoscope on my chest, pressed on my stomach a few times, and checked my anus.?

My mother helped me get dressed and handed me off to my grandmother so she could talk to the doctor.?

Which only made matters worse.?

It turned out Grandma Marge had to use the bathroom herself this entire time. Instead of waiting for my mother to return, or asking the nice nurse who gave me a lollipop to watch me, she dragged me into the woman’s bathroom.?

A memory that is forever seared into my consciousness. I shudder to this day recalling that brief 5 minutes of a phobia-inducing experience.?

Picture this. An old woman grabs her grandson and pulls him into the stall. She looks over the small area with disgust and explains to him that there are diseases everywhere.?

And if you are not careful, you could walk away sick. She yanks up her dress, pulls down her underwear, and hovers over the toilet. The sound of a spray fills his young ears as a torrent of urine pours out from under the fabric of her dress.?

His eyes are wide with fear. His mouth gaped in horror.?

After a few minutes, she pulls her underwear back up, not before she uses a generous wade of toilet paper to clean herself under the floral print. She wipes down the toilet seat and mutters to herself.?

The boy starts to cry. He wants to go home. He is afraid to touch anything. He doesn’t want to get diseases. Whatever diseases mean, he doesn’t want to catch any of it.?

And in that moment, his fear of public restrooms had taken root.?

Back in the waiting room, I latched onto my mother as if she was a life raft and I was a drift in the ocean. She kept asking me what was the matter, but I just cried and cried that I wanted to go home.?

When my father asked my mom what the doctor said, she said I was distracted or scared. They would have to be more inventive to get me to use the bathroom.?

My father’s approach was harsh. He yelled. He threatened.?

Judy on the other hand realized right away that the only way for me to start using the bathroom would be if she turned it into a game. And she did.?

She asked me if I had to “go” every hour on the hour. And every time I said no. She then asked me if I ever played the counting game, to which I replied no.

The bathroom in our house was right off of the kitchen. She told me that she would go first. She went in, leaving the door open a crack, and asked me to start counting when she said go.

She started.?

“Go. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. Ok, that’s it. I counted 12 potties.” Your turn she said.??

Not to be beaten, I went into the bathroom and forced myself to pee. And we counted.?

It didn’t stop with my urine. We counted how many poops I could poop in the toilet. It became a game between her and me.?

The funny thing with my mom was, she didn’t always let me win. And when she did, she gloated, which made me more determined to use the bathroom.

After a while, you couldn’t get me off of the toilet. I would bring my toys in there with me. I would fill up the sink so my action figures could swim while I waited to go.?

Eventually, I stopped shitting and pissing my pants all together. I think my mother knew me so well, that she figured out the only way for me to change my behavior was by making a game out of it.

She was a pioneer in early childhood development without a degree. She just knew her baby boy better than he did.??

I have been blissfully shit-free for over 4 decades. With the occasional mishap from a bad case of the squirts.?

I still have issues with using public restrooms. If I do have to go, I use the stall. And even then I hover over the toilet like I am about to birth an alien. Rarely do I go a number 2 in public.?

You can flush that shit down the toilet, cause I ain't catchin' no diseases.