by Luke Mcclure

Created on: September 19, 2009   Last Updated: September 22, 2009

When I was about five I attended a Christmas holiday family reunion of sorts that I will never forget. I wish I could report that what made this event unforgettable was warm memories of my grandparents, uncles, aunts and cousins some of whom lived out of state. No special gift or meal carved itself in my memory that night, but sadly what I recall most sharply had to do with underpants.

If your wondering, no, this is not a tale of the climax and elation a young boy has when ripping open a present from Grandma hoping for more G.I. Joesonly to discover "whitey tighties" instead. As horrific the disappointment of a five year old boy (who has no use for underwear) is upon receiving such a gift, the pain of such disappointment is temporary. What happened on this fatal night has more to do with pride being forever.

Before this night that went down in history began, it was not shaping up well. I had a horrible case of diarrhea. I apologize for the crude name, but perhaps the best way to truly describe what I had on this night was a mild case of the Hersey squirts.

At five, I was fully potty trained and at such an age it was perhaps my only bragging right to any form of adult responsibility. This case of the runs was robbing me of that. I had changed underwear several times before we left, enough to produce an actual smile upon my face should grandma bestow me with a gift of Hanes or Fruit of the Loom instead of Hasboro or Tonka. My mother, a caring nurse by profession, was more then understanding to my unfortunate predicament, but her practical solution revealed absolutely no understanding of what it is like to be a potty trained five year old: she had suggested that I wear a diaper, and even brought one along just in case.

There was no way in hell I was going to put on a diaper, I remember thinking with my arms crossed over my chest and my lips puckering and pouty as I rode in the back seat with my three siblings. I made the trip, in the clear, and actually thought that my accidents had ceased. It was not long after arriving at my grandparents house and exchanging hugs, that I truly believed the diarrhea rhymes I had recited with playmates in the past giggling had lost all humor. I had a mild accident, and with blushed face and emitting an odor I was certain everybody was politely ignoring, I somehow was able to inform my mom as discretely as possible of the greatest trauma of my life thus far.

My father accompanied me to the bathroom and I cleaned up as best

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