I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone this story, but once my Bubbie made me pee in a bucket. I was, what, maybe eight at the time? I can’t remember how old I was. I only remember that I was over at her house on one of my visits. I’d spent the night and it was the following afternoon. My aunt, who lived with Bubbie at the time, had a date. Or maybe it was a meeting. Or a doctor’s house call, maybe. I don’t remember. All I remember is my Bubbie and me waiting in her bedroom for the strange man to leave. I think we watched The Price is Right while we waited. I sat on the bed and she sat in her rocker.
Bubbie had outfitted a bucket with a potty seat for such occasions. Is this normal old-lady behavior? I don’t know, but I hope not. I have no idea why we couldn’t leave the room to use the bathroom. The bathroom was right next door. It was strange, that’s for sure.
In any case, I think I peed in the bucket. Maybe I’m remembering wrong, though. I might be remembering another time, when I was much younger. All I know is, my Bubbie had a bucket-potty. All I know is, one time I peed with my Bubbie there, and somehow I got pee on my hand. I got pee on my hand, just like I did when I was two and I fed my baby doll water and she peed on me. I cried when I was two, and I cried that time I was with my Bubbie. The time with my Bubbie, Bubbie laughed her bitter laugh and told me to get over it.
“Stop crying, it’s just sissy,” she probably said. I don’t exactly remember. I was probably younger than eight. The bucket-potty was probably some other time. Memories are funny. The thing is, when you’re a kid and your mean old grandma tells you not to cry, you don’t cry. At least I never did. I just got over it.