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Robbie Gordon lay in bed thinking about all that had happened since third grade had finished. The summer vacation had gone well until he caught the polio virus and then found he could hardly pull himself along the floor to the bathroom. The muscles had just seemed to vanish from his legs. His Mom had been so loving, cleaning up his mess. Then suddenly he was streaked to the hospital and he never saw his mother again. She died from the same polio virus just two days after Robbie had been admitted to the hospital. The four weeks in the hospital was a blur. But he’d never forget when they pulled the curtains around his hospital bed and told him that his mother had “passed on” and would not be at home when he was to be carried into his house three days later. The tears poured down Robbie’s face until his father could no longer take the heartbreak and left the hospital ward, promising to be back to bring him home.
Robbie’s first few weeks at home were spent alternately crying and trying to recover through assigned physical exercises. Back in school for the beginning of the fourth grade, Robbie was required to go to the nurse’s office after lunch and rest on the bed for one hour before going back to class. He never slept there, but sometimes he turned his back to the world, curled up and sucked his thumb - something he had abandoned two years before. Now Robbie lay in his bed at home thinking about all that had happened. His father had just left the room and turned out the light. “If only my mommy were still here,” he choked. And his thumb slipped into his mouth.
Still his eyes would not close and sleep would not come. His mind drifted to scenes long past. His mother holding him while he sniffled from fear before heading off to kindergarten. His mother pulling little white Fruit of the Looms over his behind and up over his tinkle-tinkle. His mother tickling him as she sprinkled powder on his belly and between his legs. A little tear trickled out of the corner of Robbie’s eye. “If only I could have those feelings again,” his mind said.
He tiptoed out of bed to the bathroom and stood there holding his tinkle-tinkle over the big white toilet while absently looking around the bathroom, which was softly illuminated with a night-light. Looking at his towel hanging on its rack brought the germ of an idea to his mind. Perhaps more like a deep longing than an idea. So as he headed back to his room, he carried his towel with him.
He stood next to his bed. Without a further thought, he stuffed his bathroom towel into his Fruit of the Looms. The towel stuck out over the front and over the back. His little white briefs could barely contain the large towel, but Robbie tucked it into the briefs as best he could. He stood there in the darkness and patted his bulging briefs. Yes, it felt like a diaper and it made him feel “little” - and that reminded him that his Mommy was there and loved him. Happy for the first time since before he got polio, Robbie yawned, climbed into bed, and barely pulled up the sheet before he drifted off into a pleasant dream - of Mommy holding and snuggling him. But the dream was abruptly forgotten when Dad called out, “Time to get up Robbie, the bus will be here soon, hurry up and get up!” And then panic! His sheets were soaking wet! How was it possible? Robbie kicked the blankets from off his legs, suddenly seeing and feeling the towel in his briefs, now quite wet. Confusion. Weren’t diapers supposed to keep the bed from getting wet? How am I going to explain a pee-soaked towel to Dad?
Robbie jumped out of bed, quickly slipping the wet briefs and towel down over his small butt and penis. “Where to hide these,” he wondered? At the same time he saw the small wooden toy chest his grandfather had made for him. It was, in appearance, more like a suitcase made of wood. Quickly, Robbie threw the wet things into the suitcase and shoved it under his bed. Of course, his sheets had a yellow, wet spot right in the middle.
“Robbie, are you up?” his Dad asked coming into the room. There was no time to pull the blankets up over the wet area before Dad was sitting on the edge of the bed. He turned slightly, to speak more with Robbie, and his hand fell right on the pee-soaked area. “Yiiii! What in the world?” his Dad exclaimed, now looking where his hand touched the cold urine on the sheet. “Robbie what happened? Oh, Robbie, another polio handicap!” Robbie’s Dad wrapped his arms around him, shuddering to think that the disease which had not left Robbie paralyzed, had nevertheless left its mark in many subtle ways.
Robbie felt his Dad hugging him. He felt relief because his initial embarrassment from wetting his bed had not led to recriminations from his father. In fact, Robbie’s eyes welled up as his father’s hand rubbed the back of his head, still holding him close. Robbie had forgotten that Dad had snuggled him a lot when he was a toddler. How he missed such hugs.
Robbie jumped off the school bus and hurried into the house. There was no Mom to greet him and Dad was still at work; only the housekeeper was there. His father had hired a woman named Marie to be a kind of live-in babysitter and to clean and cook and so on. Robbie knew that his Dad was just trying to find a way to carry on with life, but he resented Marie’s presence. There was no way ANYONE could replace his Mommy.
“Hello, Mrs. Richards,” Robbie mumbled. “Can I have some milk?” And he dropped his school bag onto the kitchen floor. Marie Richards glared at Robbie, her hands on her hips. Then she pointed to the kitchen table. There, on the table, was grandfather’s toy case. . . open! “That box of yours was stinkin’ up yer whole room, boy!” she began. “What in God’s name was that pee-soaked towel and skivvies doin’ in there?” she demanded.
Robbie’s world seemed to implode. It had been three days and he had nearly forgotten wetting the bed. He had absolutely forgotten using a make-shift diaper. But now, he could not forget. His face turned warm and red. And little tears started to trickle from the corners of his eyes. “I. . . I. . .,” he tried to say, but then he began to cry with intensity, collapsing on the floor.
Marie didn’t know what to think. She just patted the boy on his head, and then, finally carried him to his room. The whole time, Robbie did not stop crying. His thumb had slipped into his mouth, even before Marie laid him on his bed. She kissed him, roughly as was her way, and covered him with a blanket. There was no explaining it, but after all, she thought, the boy had lost his mother.
Later, she explained everything to Robbie’s Dad when he came home. She had already prepared a supper for Robbie and his Dad, and she retired to her quarters, leaving Mr. Gordon to puzzle out the problem on his own.
Robbie woke up with the sun streaming in the window, shocking his eyes into alertness. It was Saturday. He had fallen to sleep the night before with not a thing to eat, and he was VERY hungry. He crawled out of bed and pulled up a pair of shorts over his damp briefs. He vaguely realized that he must have wet himself during the night, if not very much.
At breakfast, his Dad and Marie were unusually quiet. A plate of blueberry pancakes were put in front of Robbie and he began to shovel them in, satisfying the hunger he had. Finally, his Dad spoke.
“Robbie, I’m confused. At first I thought that your wetting the bed was an accident, something caused by the polio you had over the summer. But, then how to explain the towel and briefs hidden under your bed?”
Robbie stopped eating and stared at his plate. Mr. Gordon reached over and put his hand on Robbie’s hand. “Son, I know how you miss your mother, and maybe that has something to do with this. I think I know something that will help you.” He looked at his housekeeper. Marie just shook her head, stood, and went over to work at the sink.
That evening, Mr. Gordon surprised Robbie by coming into his bedroom when he was getting ready for bed. Usually, he waited until Robbie yelled, “I’m ready!”
“Dad!” Robbie said, startled. He was standing next to his bed with nothing on, his hand subconsciously covering his tinkle-tinkle. “Hello, Son.” His Dad was carrying a large bag which he set on the bed. He slowly began to remove the items from the bag and to set them on the little table next to Robbie’s bed. A canister of baby powder! A package of cloth diapers! A package containing three rubber pants! Mr. Gordon removed a few other items and then turned to his naked son, still standing there, looking wide-eyed at the little table.
“Robbie, come here,” he said, his arms open. Robbie fell into his arms, clutching his Dad’s shirt, holding him tightly. Without another word, his Dad lay him on the bed, and began to diaper him using the powder, the pins, the rubber pants -- everything that his dear wife had used when Robbie was young. He began with six layers of comfy white cheesecloth which he pulled under Robbie’s butt.
“I love you, Robbie,” his Dad said as he sprinkled powder on his belly, on his tinkle-tinkle, on his tiny sack, and- lifting his legs- on the crack of his butt. His Dad made little kissing sounds as he pulled the diapers snugly up through Robbie’s crotch, using three pins on each side to secure it around his small waist. Robbie hardly knew what to think, but his eyes were closed, he was relaxed, and the smallest trace of a smile could be seen on his lips.
His Dad took one pair of the rubber pants and slipped them up Robbie’s legs and over his white, cloth diapers. Then he kissed Robbie on his cheek, and covered him with the blankets. “Robbie,” Mr. Gordon said quietly. “I love you very much. I am going to keep diapering you like this until you tell me to stop. It is not a punishment at all. You have done nothing wrong. I just think that you need this experience. . .” and Mr. Gordon looked at Robbie, lifting an eyebrow. Robbie opened his eyes, looked briefly at his Dad, and then turned away and looked out the window for a minute. A tear appeared in the corner of his eye. And he turned back and looked up at his Dad, and nodded. Then, suddenly he threw his arms around his Dad’s neck and hugged him tightly.
Over the years that followed, Mr. Gordon never broke his promise to powder and diaper his son. There would be many changes in the Gordon family, and sometimes Mr. Gordon would have to make other arrangements. Yet this quiet, loving act, which continued until Robbie was in the tenth grade, gave Robbie the strength to face the future. He was able to remember his loving Mommy, experience Dad’s ongoing support and care, and become a student that was academically successful and admired by his peers.
So what if, as a young teenager, he wore diapers and plastic pants to bed at night!? So what if he sucked his thumb while falling off to sleep!? So what if, as he got a bit older, he rubbed his tinkle-tinkle just a little in the pleasant confines of his diaper, filling it with a milky white fluid!? After all, during the day, he was Bob Gordon, the student voted most likely to succeed by his graduating class. In the evening, as his homework was finished, he became—just “Robbie.”
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