The first time I pooped my pants

These are the first pants* I remember pooping in at an age where it was no longer acceptable to do so. They’re fight shorts made for a fight class, one I attended from the age of ~1 clear through middle school. In high school I wrestled. I made it to CCS (central coast section), got third and since then have been to a total of two jiu jitsu classes. I can’t remember exactly why I chose to poop in these—I was on the ride home from fight class and couldn’t hold it. But that’s not really why I chose to do it. I could’ve asked my father to pull over. After all, avoiding pooped pants is a pretty compelling reason to stop the car. So why didn’t I just ask? Was I scared of my father? And why? Because he’d be angry I didn’t go before leaving? Or angry I made us stop in the first place? Or maybe the more innocuous, we simply had somewhere to be and I already knew we were close on time. Although what followed makes that seem unlikely. I hid it for the car ride and upon arriving at home, scooped it into the toilet and cleaned myself off in the bathtub. I asked my dad if he remembered it recently. He said he didn’t. I have a lot of memories like this one—behavior I laughed about after the fact because it seemed insane and then had a moment of pause, wondering why someone so young would do something so insane.

*shorts, rather, but I’m using The Royal Pants colloquially, not literally, so the semantics don’t really matter