[I don’t often write creative non-fiction on my blog, but I found this super old post and really loved it, edited it, and here is the new version.]
When I was in kindergarten, I peed my pants at school.
It was our Arts and Crafts period. It was the end of the day. I wanted to finish my painting. I had to finish it. But my tiny, five-year-old bladder couldn’t take it. When I was five years old, that was the most horrific thing I could imagine happening.
“Why didn’t you ask to go to the washroom?” My teacher asked.
“Because…Because…” I said in between sobs, “I just wanted to finish my painting.”