Memorycemetery

Hello, I just had a look around Memorycemetery site, and found this memory by Tengu, called “Poo”. In this post Tengu says that she would like to find out if somebody else says sorry or thank you when they do poo. Well, I do sometimes. Moreover, there’s a site dedicated to poo, it called www.poopreport.com. I guess everybody interested in the subject can just have a look or contribute … Anyway, I would like to share my poo memory here too. Actually, I reprint it from PoopReport, but nevermind.

This is not the earliest memory I have, but it is one of the most vivid. When I was five I used to run around the house in my undies. (Ever since, I’ve always felt more comfortable and relaxed in them — which has led to some interesting moments when roommates have come home early from a trip or didn’t bother to tell me that they took the day off of work.) And back when I was five, I had this toy box — well, not really a box, but a giant plastic football. Now that I think about it, it kinda looked like a giant turd that had a hole on the top through which you would access the toys inside.We were living with my grandparents, as my mom and dad had recently divorced. My mom and I had to share the upstairs back bedroom. She was pretty good about it, as she was really only ever in the room at night to sleep; during the day I was allowed to play in there “quietly.”

I don’t recall exactly why that when I had to poop I didn’t just go to the bathroom. Instead, I choose to hold it. More than likely, I was probably just having a grand old time playing. So, sitting in that room dimly lit by the sun coming in through the window, wearing nothing but my favorite pair of Superman Underoos (I may have to find adult versions of these one day just to freak out my girl), holding in my poo, it happened. I was playing with Lego’s and Matchbox Cars, and when I moved to get more cars from the toy football, I suddenly had a giant turd in my underwear.

I didn’t want to say anything or get caught for fear of getting in trouble. I was getting in trouble a lot around that time for not having to pee before a car trip and then pissing my pants because I really did have to go. So I reached in through the front of my Roo’s and pulled out this turd that was bigger than my hand. I remember making a fist with my other hand and comparing them.

Not sure how something that size could come out my tender young bum, and not knowing what to do with this newfound prize, I threw it in my toy football. My next dilemma was now having poo all over my hand, and it was gross! I looked for something to clean my hand with, and saw my mom’s new coat.

It was 1979, and fur was in.

I remember this was one of those coats with rabbit fur just on the collar. With what little sense I did have about me, I deduced that the fur on the coat was similar in color to the poo on my hand, and I decided that this would cover up my crime. I still remember how soft and silky that fur was, and how it wasn’t taking much, if any, of the poo off my hand. I was starting to panic, especially since I could hear someone coming up the stairs. Acting quickly, I shoved the coat under the bed and wiped my hand on the wall behind the headboard.

No sooner had I done this did my mom walk in. She immediately knew I had done something I was not supposed to do. I probably looked like a baby deer in headlights. After a few minutes of questioning, she got out of me that I had pooped my Roo’s and that I threw it away in the toy football. I did not get in any trouble that day; however, a few weeks later when she needed that coat, she found it under the bed covered in poop. I got in trouble for that.

Then, almost a year later, when we moved out of there, I was once again in trouble for not telling anyone I smeared poop on the wall behind the headboard.

Grogan

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