It was a summertime weekend, and I was attending a girls softball tournament in North Central Indiana. It was hot, and miserably humid. A typical summer day if you’ve ever traveled to the great state of Indiana during the summer. I was 17, and in attendance to watch my then high school girlfriend play in the tournament. Why torture myself you may ask? Well, to be honest, I was so far up here anus that I may have used a hemorrhoid as a pillow most nights. I planned on watching the game, and going out to eat afterwards before a two hour drive home.

The games concluded and The Olive Garden was chosen as our dinner destination. Unlimited salad and bread sticks were worth the twenty dollar piece of lasagna that I could afford on my minimum wage job salary. I had rarely eaten at The Olive Garden due to my hometown not having the commercial giant readily available. I have been known to have stomach issues with rich food, however, never a major issue with Italian food. The meal was fine, and upon exiting the restaurant I felt full, and confident to begin my long drive home at 10:00 o’clock that night. I hopped in the car, content, only then I suddenly felt rolling thunder.

There wasn’t any rain or lightning, but a storm was definitely moving in, and coming in fast. I had a phobia of defecating in public toilets at this age (which I’ve proudly overcome) and so randomly stopping somewhere wasn’t an option. Weird noises and goosebumps were coursing through my body. I wasn’t even a quarter way through my journey, but this had become an ultimate test. Believing in myself and my fortitude, I pinched cheeks together like I was in a Tijuana body shop after eating ice cream. Suddenly with one loud rumble, the pain was gone. No more goosebumps or pain, and the urge to blow out my O-Ring had vanquished. False alarm? Maybe, but only time would tell and I accelerated my cruise control to 5 mph greater.

An hour had passed and I was a mere 45 minutes from my end destination. My confidence grew, and I imagine I felt similar to a great explorer or conqueror of sorts. The light at the end of the tunnel was expanding and I smiled. Only, life has a way of reminding you that Murphy’s Law exists and is not to be toyed with. The storm had resurfaced. Cramping and goosebumps returned and my overworked sphincter needed assistance. Now I was 30 minutes away. If I were to survive it would be a miracle.

I decided that a Steak ‘N’ Shake restaurant located about ten minutes from home would be my target. I could drop my bombs over Baghdad and celebrate with a strawberry milkshake. However, this would take more will power than I would imagine. If I were to arrive safely, I would need help. I grabbed an empty Gatorade bottle and wedged it between destiny and disaster. A make shift dam,… or plug I guess. At this point I was speeding, and if an officer had clocked me, it would have been an awful experience for the both of us. I wondered, could this be considered a medical emergency? Could I run from the cops and not be ticketed?

Biting my lip, with full body goosebumps and skin colored green I pulled into Steak ‘N’ Shake. I did it! 50 ft was all that was left of this horrific drive home and I felt my soul relax. Unfortunately, as I took my first step from the car, so did my large intestine. Lighting finally struck. With a noise that rivaled true lighting itself, my left leg was suddenly warm and my bright, new, white Converse All Star shoes changed color. Rain accompanied the lighting, but this rain was colored brown. Shit was rolling down my leg and ruining my sheen of my white shoes. I had officially just crapped my pants. My nineties cargo shorts offered zero protection from the hurricane that had just occurred in the soap on a rope zone. Shame, for shame on myself.

I searched the parking lot for anyone who may have witnessed the disaster. Luckily, I was the only car in sight. To the north of the parking lot was an area of trees and brush, covered in darkness that called to my inner instinct. As I ran, remnants of the thunder shot out like a cannon. When I made it to safety, I fully stripped. Socks, underwear were launched into the wood, never to be seen again. I pulled up my moist cargoes and walked confidently back to my car. I drove a Ford Taurus, which would later be named the “Tore Ass” to commemorate my experience. More luck would have it, a towel. A towel I had used to sit on from a recent trip to the quarries helped protect the car interior. I placed the towel on the seat, and sat in my depressing misery.

The horror did not end there. I made it home, sneaking into the garage taking off my shoes and using the towel to wipe away leftovers attempting to avoid desecrating our house. From there, I shot straight to the laundry room which was downstairs and connected by a door to the garage. I tossed shoes, the towel, and everything else I had been wearing into the washer and quickly added soap. I stood there naked, in utter shame taking a deep breath before I washed away my sorrows. I wondered how I would make it to the upstairs bathroom without being detected? Then I remembered that it was almost Midnight. Everyone should be asleep. I was ready to take this secret to the grave and that’s when I heard the door open.

Full moon glaring with shit stained cheeks, it was my mother who rightfully shreeked in terror. The nightmare had become reality. After the shrill, she quickly exited and closed the door. I found a towel and opened the door. She apologized for walking in unannounced and asked if I was ok. My head hung low, I couldn’t find the courage to look her in the eye. Sniffling like a two year old, I finally muttered “Mom, I shit my pants.” A brief moment of silence, and then with the most reassuring “mom” voice she replied.

“Oh son,… it’s ok. So did I last week.”

This is not a tale of sadness, however, but a defining moment of life. Two of the greatest things came from this experience. One, I love my mom and I never feared telling her anything after this moment. Two, I could never wear those shoes again. I loved my Converse, but every time I laced them up afterwards, all I could see was poo staining the glory of my new age Chuck’s. Shortly after, maybe two days, I made the best shoe purchase of all time. I bought a pair of Dr J Converse 2000’s. My favorite all-time shoe. You can only find these gems on Ebay these days, but in all their glory, they are worth it.

Some words I now live by, sometimes greatness comes with shitting your pants.