It’s a bird, it’s a plane, it’s an American!

One of the few memories I have of first grade is the time I pissed my pants.

School usually let out around 3 pm. It was around 2:45, and I thought I could hold it for another 15 minutes. I crossed my legs and shifted in my seat, trying to focus on anything but the obvious. When the bell rang, I stood up and the floodgates opened.

I was wearing stonewashed jeans with white specks, not the kind of pants that could hide a stain.

My mother was parked outside, and to get to her car I had to walk across a field that separated the school from a road where parents waited for their children. It was the longest 100 yards of my childhood. Continue reading