The Choir He Wanted, The LIfe He Had

Friday, March 16, 1937

It was a big night for me.

That day we had one of our first choir concerts, and I was going to sing a solo. I was extremely excited, but I was also kind of nervous, and not just for the solo. I was slightly nervous because I had not had time to use the bathroom, and right before we were going to perform, I suddenly had to go. And not just a little.

Mr. Smith was talking, but I wasn't really listening. There were so many thoughts running through my mind that what he was saying was going in one ear and out the other. I only focused on him when I heard him ask if there were any questions.

I raised my hand quickly.

"Yes, Jack," he said.

"I kinda...have to...use the bathroom," I said. Some of the other boys laughed quietly, but I ignored them.

"Well, we're about to perform," Mr. Smith said. "Do you think you can wait a few minutes?"

"I guess," I replied, slightly uncertain.

"Don't worry," he said, "You'll be fine."

I nodded, but I didn't really agree. Mr. Smith told us we were going to go onstage, and we all stood up. I ignored the feeling of my bladder screaming for relief and led the way to the stage. The crowd cheered as we lined up in our rows. When I was standing still, I found that I had to pee worse than I did when I was sitting down or walking onstage. I said nothing about it and stood as still as I could which, looking back on it now, wasn't that still.

When we started singing, I felt like I would be fine. Singing gave me a distraction, and I could get my mind away from needing to use the bathroom.

By the time the first song was over, I was feeling like I could easily finish the concert and run to the bathroom afterward. In the middle of the second song, though, the need for a toilet came back, and I noticed it more than anything else. By the time the second song was over, I was swaying back and forth in an attempt to find comfort.

Nothing worked.

"Stand still!" I heard Roger, who was standing behind me, whisper.

"I can't!" I whispered back. It was true. I physically could not stand still without accidentally wetting myself.

"Do it!" Roger whispered. I didn't respond, and before either of us could say anything else, we were starting the third song.

I wanted desperately to run out of the concert and to the bathroom, but my solo was during the last song. By the middle of the third song, I had to pee so badly that I could hardly stand up straight. As I looked out into the audience, I saw people pointing at me and whispering and laughing. I ignored them and kept singing, waiting for it all to end so I could empty my bladder and finally get some relief. When the third song was over, I turned to look at Roger and whispered urgently,

"I'm gonna pee myself!"

"Don't do that," Roger whispered back.

"I don't think I'll have a choice eventually!" I whispered. "I don't think I can hold it much longer!"

"Just go then!" Roger whispered back. "What are you waiting for?"

Before I could retaliate, someone shushed us, and the fourth and final song began.

My solo was in the middle of the song, and surprisingly I was able to keep from wetting myself until then.

When it was time for my solo, I walked shakily to the microphone that was set apart from the rest of the singers. The audience (especially my parents) applauded as I walked to the front of the stage.