I spent the Second Grade in the “Holy Name” school building. It was one of those typical 1950ish Catholic school buildings. The classroom was cavernous. It was filled with 33 seven-year old’s and run by a nun with a nasty disposition. She scared the shit out of me with her iron fist.
Each classroom had a speaker mounted on the wall high above the teacher’s desk. They called it “The intercom”, and they treated it like it was technology that was sending men to the moon.
Aside from taking attendance, A big part of Homeroom was when the Head Nun got on the fancy “Inter-com” and read off “Announcements”. It was always a litany of pedestrian crap-ola that no seven-year-old gave a shit about. Stuff like, “Your Lunch Money is due”, or “don’t’ run out in front of cars”, or “During recess, anything in the alley beyond the undertaker’s driveway is forbidden”. What god damned seven-year-old gives a shit about the undertaker?
It was Lent, because after attendance and the all-important announcements, they made us stand next to our desks and pray the rosary. Two things here: If you’ve never prayed the rosary, it takes a long time. Second, this was Catholic school, so we had a dress code which meant that you can’t wear comfortable clothes. We had to wear button down shirts, slacks (no jeans), and hard soled shoes.
Also remember that this is the 1970’s, so My mom had me dressed with a wide collared shirt, blue and red plaid polyester pants, and black hard soled shoes with vinyl uppers.
Anyway, back to the story: It’s Lent in Homeroom, and I’m standing next to my desk, Rosary in my hand, and the Head Nun is leading the prayers over the fancy intercom that put men on the moon.
At some point in the Rosary, I realized I had to pee. I also realized that if I broke rank and interrupted the Rosary to ask permission to use the Lavatory, I knew the nun would crack my skull with her evil iron fist.
I resisted the urge to Pee.
I waited longer. I prayed on along with the Head Nun on the intercom.
I really had to pee.
I realized I had to break rank, interrupt my solemn prayer, and make a run for the Nuns desk to ask permission to go to the Lavatory.
I got about half way to her desk when I felt her cold heart staring me in the eyes. She hissed, “David! We’re praying the Rosary. Get back to your damned desk!”
I dutifully returned to my position beside my desk and returned to praying the rosary along with the head nuns voice on the fancy intercom.
I made it through another 10 or 20 Hail Mary’s when it felt like a jack hammer was beating on my young bladder.
I took another risk and made for the Nuns desk to ask for permission to go to the Lavatory.
Her icy stare froze me in my tracks. While my eyes pleaded with her, she snarled, “DAVID! Return to your desk. We’re praying the God Damned Rosary!”.
I returned to my desk and did my level best to continue praying along with the tinny voice of the head nun on the god forsaken intercom that put men on the moon.
I dutifully stood next to my desk. My tiny fingers moving from bead to bead. My lips moving along in rote memory, but my mind was fixated on my expanding bladder.
I stared at the nun in the room. I contemplated making another plea for her mercy. After the last two failed attempts, I couldn’t stand another one of her rebukes.
My hands and lips were praying the Rosary, but my mind was praying for strength to make it through the rest of the rosary so I could make it to the Lavatory.
My prayers weren’t answered.
A drip turned into a dribble. A dribble turned into a stream.
I soaked my blue and red plaid polyester pants.
I filled my cheap vinyl shoes.
We finished the Rosary and the Head Nun told us to move to the next class. I grabbed my belongings and sloshed on to the next class.
So, my soggy pants and I are in the next classroom. In just a matter of minutes, The Nun who rebuked my trip to the lavatory walked in and said, “DAVID! Please Come here!”.
I walked to the front of the room and she dragged me into the hallway.
She said, “DAVID! Did you piss your pants while we were praying the damned Rosary!’
I don’t recall my response, but I do recall her smacking me and shoving me through that big hallway towards the office.
In that office, I was berated by the classroom nun and the head Nun about what a sinner I was because I peed my blue and red plaid paints whilst praying the rosary.
Both nuns took turns smacking my sorry soggy sinner ass.
They handed me a phone. They made me call my mom. To tell her how horrible I was that I peed my blue and red plaid pants whilst praying the Rosary and ask her to bring me a dry change of clothes.
I do not recall praying the Rosary ever again.