The most embarrassing moment of my life was so embarrassing that I didn’t talk about it until my middle twenties. Only then could I look back and laugh my ass off, because while this event was mighty embarrassing at the time, it is now a hilarious moment of adolescence that I can talk about with anyone, including the people who were there.
I was shipped off to Providence Hebrew Day School for 8th grade due to my behavior problems which persisted throughout my day school days. I was kicked out of Manhattan Day School after many ill attempts at discipline, special ed didn’t work, my fathers screaming and beating didn’t work and the social workers and therapists sure as hell didn’t work. The frum community way seems to be “when all else fails, send your kid away to yeshiva” or if they are old enough, somewhere in Israel so that the other siblings can find shidduchim and not be accused of having a nebach brother.
So I found myself in a completely coed day school in what I deemed the middle of nowhere. Providence I later found out was a bustling town with too many colleges to count and some of the prettiest mansions I had ever seen. I also made friends with all 10 kids in my class and they were even nice about my stuttering problem. (which miraculously vanished the next year)
Our 8th grade class trip was a cliche educational trip to Washington DC, like every other class trip before us, we were ushered from tourist site to museum all the while watching other class trips do the same thing except their girls were in short pleated skirts with knee socks, and that is when I discovered what the numeric girl rating system was, but this has nothing to do with my story.
On the way back to Providence we stopped at Chai Pizza in Monsey for dinner. I remember eating way too much, but it was so good, especially because Providence had no kosher pizza. Somewhere around Mystic Connecticut, in the middle of the night I started feeling tummy pains, when you are thirteen years old you don’t want to seem to desperate to find the restrooms, but I made an exception.
I asked the driver if they could over at the next rest area. Interstate 95 is one of those roads with a plethora of exits devoted to servicing the weary driver with gas stations and fast food joints. As we pulled into the rest area, I felt my bowels let loose, and although I could smell it, I figured no one else could. I hopped out of the van and went to the bathroom to assess the damage.
My underwear were a mess and my pants would probably have to be thrown out, one of the teachers came to help and made it known that he realized what had happened. I wanted to die, I was 13 and I had just had an accident, I was even walking in that hobble footed way that little kids who had just made in their pants walked.
I got back to the van and pretended like nothing happened, I didn’t really think they knew. I got back to the family I lived with and I guess the mom already knew, I was horrified again but just acted cool – even though I obviously wasn’t.
Years later I was talking with one of the kids whose house I lived at during that year and he mentioned that everyone in the van knew. In fact I think they were given some sort of pep talk to pretend they didn’t know. I laughed at this concept, but am thankful no one said anything.
It is only now that I can admit what no one wants to ever admit, that at the ripe old age of 13 I crapped my pants.