I think pretty often about the two times in elementary school when I allegedly peed my pants. Here’s more information about those incidents.

I went out for the basketball team in fifth grade, and (spoiler alert) I failed extra fuckin hard. Here are the facts about that night:

1. We barely even played basketball. The majority of the tryout was drill exercises. I was a pretty decent shooter, but I never cared much for running. I was out of breath and sweatin my nards off within minutes. I’ve always been a sweater. I don’t like it, but I’ve learned to live with it.
2. My sweatpants were completely wet in the entire area where a whole lot of pee would also fit, if I were to pee myself.
3. I have no recollection of peeing my pants that night, nor did I ever have any awareness of peeing my pants that night. I am 100% percent sure I didn’t pee my pants that night. Like, how could I not know, y’know? I was very sweaty, and gray sweatpants are, by their very nature, an extremely high-contrast article of clothing, and I believe that combination led my chums to believe that I peed my pants that night. In hindsight, I can see how they might think that. After all, I did poop my pants when I was in kindergarten.
4. I was sad when Mom and Dad picked me up. My dad played basketball in elementary school and high school, and my brother and both sisters played basketball in elementary school, plus I grew up in southern Indiana. I didn’t make the team that night, and pretty much all the other boys in my class thought I’d peed myself, so you can maybe imagine why I was sad when Mom and Dad picked me up.
5. Mom (and possibly, but certainly to lesser extent, Dad) felt bad for me, and they took me to Big Lots to pick out Something for Myself, and we maybe went out for supper, too, possibly even to Rax Roast Beef, but all I remember from that night other than a big ol’ pee-shaped wet spot on my crotch is my Big Lots score: a motherfuckin Hillbilly Jim bendy.
6. In the back seat of the car, on the way home from “town”, I realized I’d chosen a dud of an action figure. I mean, I fuckin loved Hillbilly Jim, but just look at that big ol’ beefer! There’s no way he’s gonna bend worth a shit.

I’ve always been a collector/pack rat, and most of the stuff I own is sentimental and useless and irrelevant, but there are a few things that I’m very glad I still own, and this WW(F)® Wrestling Superstars™ Bendies™ Hillbilly Jim™ “action” figure is one of them. It lifted my spirits on what was probably one of the saddest, most embarrassing days of my life up to that point.

That’s the most my Hillbilly Jim ever bent, and coincidentally, it’s about as much as I’ve ever bent as well. I’ll tell you about the time I got stuck in the upstairs hallway trying to stretch out my hamstrings some other time.

The other alleged pee-pants incident came in sixth grade. Here are the things I remember most about that day:

1. We were in the library watching a movie, and we were seated on both sides of two large tables. The teacher and/or the librarian eventually called on me during the post-film discussion, and I stood to answer. I noticed some snickering coming from the shitheads on the other side of the table as I spoke, and I didn’t much care for it.
2. When I sat back down, one of the assbutts from across the table whispered “[you] peed your pants” and I looked down, and sure enough, there was a wetness that appeared to have been made by urine in my pants.
3. I am 100% sure I did not pee my pants that day. How would I not fuckin know, y’know?

I’ve long since assumed someone shot my crotchal area with a squirt gun while we were watching the movie. You have to understand, baggy pants were coming into style (we were less than one year away from MC Hammer and Vanilla Ice), so it’s likely that my pants weren’t actually touching my sensitive areas, meaning I probably wouldn’t have noticed being shot in the junk with a water gun, and besides, my attention was elsewhere. I just know I was into the movie, and I didn’t feel anything hit my pants, but I also didn’t feel myself pee my pants, so I have to lean toward Squirtgate for a suitable explanation. Their diabolical plan to humiliate me failed on account of no one else could see it, on account of the lights being dimmed due to movie-watching. Checkmate, assholes.

The weird thing is that it never became a “thing”. Like, no one ever even tried to make fun of me outside of either incident, and that seems weird to me, given the nature of 11-year-old boys, at least back when I was one. All I know for sure is that I am totally confident that I did not pee my pants on school property between the ages of 10 and 12, and it very much looked like I did on two separate occasions, and I think about both occasions often.

Thanks for reading. I have a new blog thing over on Substack, too. It’d be cool if you checked that out, but it’s also cool if you don’t. I’m still figuring out what that space is for, but for the foreseeable future, I’ll be posting here sometimes, and there sometimes, and sometimes the twain shall meet. This is one of the latter times.