Don't Shit in the Lake
A 'Fucked Up Moments in Fatherhood' Mini
As I climbed the few steps to the diving board that stretched out over the beautiful Alpine lake, my son—who was next in line for the board—stopped me.
“Daddy,” he said. “I have to poop.”
“Right now?” I asked.
“Actually, I can wait.” he said.
“You sure?” I said. “Don’t feel like you have to hold it. If you have to go, we’ll go.”
He paused, staring out at some arbitrary spot in the sky.
“No,” he said. “I’m okay.”
With that, I dove in. As I came up for air, I looked back up toward the board, toward my son. I stretched my arms toward him and told him to go for it, that I would catch him (the board is probably ten feet off the water, so quite high for a five-year-old).
He hesitated.
“Come on,” I said. “You’ve done this a hundred times! It’s okay if you’re scared. Just go!”
“Daddy,” he said. “I’m not scared. I pooped my pants.”
“Just now? On the diving board.”
He shook his head yes.
I yelled for Emily, who rushed over to help, before I climbed up the ladder to the deck that overlooks the lake.
As Emily hurried our son toward the bathroom, I assured him that this happens to everyone. In fact, he is just one in a long line of people in his family who’ve shit themselves in public.
Though he might be the first that did it on a diving board.
After the last email, I could only imagine the Bizarro World Scenario where instead of asking Emily to help him, you ask her to grab a phone and take a photo of the poor kid on the diving board. Y'know. For the socials.
Oh man, talk about a juxtaposition: beautiful alpine lake with a kid who pooped his pants. I've learned with my son that when he says he needs to poop it's already too late. Very funny.