One of my favorite childhood memories...goes back to when I was five years old. I don’t know if I would call this one of my favorite memories because it’s the first memory I have of being embarrassed. Unless you count that time we were at Disney World and I grabbed a strange man’s hand on the escalator thinking it was my dad, but that’s kind of a boring story.
I attended a preschool and summer camp called Browne Academy in Alexandria, Virginia. It was pronounced Brownie Academy. I’m not sure why, but it was. At least while I attended. And no, it wasn’t just me who called it that. The main building at the academy was a big white stone mansion. I always liked to say “the academy” because it made me feel like we were rich even though we weren’t. Just like when in the molten hot days of summer I would sometimes leave the window rolled up on my side of the car while we drove around, so people would think we were rich and had air-conditioning in our Chevy Vega.
The distinct memory I have occurred in the big white stone mansion, amidst a cluster of children gathered around our nap-time cots. The cots were like those old army cots with wooden legs that made the shape of an “X” on each end, and were covered with a piece of canvas. Each kid had a crib sheet brought from home that snuggly fit over the canvas. I still have the little pastel-colored choo choo train-printed sheet I used, which my own kids used when they were in their toddler beds – which is interesting considering what happened to the sheet.
We were all gathered around our cots, naked from the waist down. I’m not really sure why we were naked. I’m hoping it was because the academy had a swimming pool and we were in the process of changing from our bathing suits to our street clothes. I was seated on my cot and we were all giggling at this boy, Jason, whose back was turned to us, fully exposing his tiny derriere. We were giggling not because he was naked, since we all were, but because some one had just said, “Ooh, someone made a stinky!”
I said, “It was Jason. Look at his butt!”
All the kids joined in, “Jason made a stinky! Jason made a stinky!”
Jason said, “It wasn’t me. It was her!” and pointed at me.
“But your butt’s sticking out!” I said as I stood up to put on my underwear.
When I stood, Jason pointed at my cot and said, “See, it is you.” I turned around to look at my cot and sitting right there on top of my pastel-colored choo choo train-printed crib sheet was something that could only be described as a cat turd. I had pooped my sheet! The stinky had come from me!
|Browne Academy – big white stone mansion|
How did that happen? I didn’t even feel it! I searched for any way I could to prove that that poop wasn’t from me, but there was no way out. There were no cats around to blame the turd on. It was obvious that I had pooped and made the stinky.
All the kids laughed and the teacher came over and yelled at me for laying a mini-load on my crib sheet. It was 1975, that’s what teachers did – they yelled. I guess it was supposed to toughen us up. I don’t think I was too scarred, but I do remember from then on I never pooped my sheet again. I just went in my pants. That worked for me for years.
So, tell me, did you ever poop your sheet?
This post is part of Finish the Sentence Friday.
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