I was in the presence of a large yet fairly subtle classroom. My United States History II classroom. With our much respected teacher, Mr. Gregory Fitzgerald Marshall.
I was gingerly writing notes about WWII. Carefully ensuring that I did not miss a single word from the 2007 Power Point.
Then all of a sudden, I felt a small pressure in my lower abdomen. It tickled, but it sent an urgent message to me.
I had to urinate.
Slowly I raised my quivering hand to alert the 56 year old teacher of the news.
"Mr. Marshall, may I use the restroom?" I asked trying to hold the liquid into my bladder.
Mr. Marshall thought about it for a second, then a smirk ripped across his face.
"Yes, you may," he said in approval. "But I'm coming with you."
The entire class looked at me. The many peircing eyes of children made me feel slightly uncomfortable. This wasn't anything new. But in situations like this, I had to say the first thought that raced through my mind.
"But, Mr. Marshall, I think that's illegal," I blurted out with slight tension.
The man let out a slight chuckle.
"Not in my classroom," he reassured.
