Warning: I am sorry for what you are about to read. I was sorry I lived it, at the time.
When my grandparents moved “back home” to the rural countryside after Granddaddy’s retirement, they began converting a bedroom to a bathroom in the house where they raised three children in the 1940s and 50s. I was around six when this particular event occurred. I couldn’t imagine a house without a bathroom (or a phone, but that comes later). My dad told stories of growing up without a bathroom: everyone took turns bathing in a tub by the heater in the living room, behind a blanket hung from a string. So, up to this point, there was an outhouse in use; I have no memory of that, but…
As I said, apologies.
No
I will not go
But you said you had to
I do I MEAN I DID
but not anymore
It’s not good to hold it
I’m not holding it
although
Granddaddy is,
he sets it there on the floor
white enamel pot
with a pretty red rim
it even has
a matching lid
We’ll go out, says Grandma
you just call us when you’re done,
so Granddaddy can take it outside
and dump it
No!
I don’t have to go!
We did this years ago
Daddy scowls,
stop crying
it’s not going to hurt you
just go
The pot sits waiting
No
I don’t even want to know
what happens after and
I’d rather bust with No. 2, so no
I
will
not
go
Chamber pot. Marion Doss. CC BY-SA
The perfectly beautiful, modern bathroom was soon finished at my grandparents’ home, although they occasionally referred to the toilet as “the pot” throughout the remainder of their years. I can’t recall seeing the chamber pot ever again. Thank heaven.
*******
The annual Slice of Life Story Challenge with Two Writing Teachers is underway, meaning that I am posting every day in the month of March. This marks my fifth consecutive year and I’m experimenting with an abecedarian approach: On Day 16, I am writing around a word beginning with letter p, which could really have gone in a number of directions here…
Special thanks to Kim Johnson for the invitation to write a vivid childhood memory this week on Ethical ELA, inspiring this poem.
lit bits and pieces 
For me, the best stories are the memories of a way of life, of traditions, of those who shared blood and love.
We had an outhouse about 20 or 30 feet back from the house. At the edge of the woods. Where the coyotes gathered in the dark of night to howl. Fear is less about what you can see than what you can’t.
I was afraid to go to the outhouse at night, even with a flashlight. So I peed off the edge of the porch and scrambled back into the safety of our log cabin. And in the early morning light I would bravely go out into the damp, chilly yard to gather pinecones to start the morning fire. And to scrape fresh dirt to cover last night’s contribution.
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For me, it’s a valuable lesson in what I take for granted, and only deepens my appreciation for the generations who went before. I treasure (from a safe distance, in the case!) the firsthand experiences with some of the old ways and living histories, before they passed.
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The format of your piece intrigues me as a reader. It makes me speed up the argument back and forth. Thanks for sharing a childhood memory.
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Thank you for your words about the structure – and for reading!
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I love the warning you gave and the memory you told, perfectly! HA! This made me laugh! I can only imagine the horror you felt at such a young age! I am grateful they did get a modern bathroom!! Thank you for sharing this slice!
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Thank you for your bravery in reading! Yeah, it was an unforgettable moment of horror. One that a person does NOT wish to relive…
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PS – I tried to access your link on TWT and it says post not found! Can you try to add it again?
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Such a versatile word to use as your title. Coupled with the warning and apology it left open many possibilities. I was not expecting the “chamber” variety. The disappearance of the outhouse (and, I guess the chamber pot) has removed a lot of story possibilities from later generations. At my camp, one of the elder leaders used to read a story called “The Specialist” every summer at our “council fire.” I can still hear it in my head.
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Well, I had a little fun with the horror, and, in retrospect, it really is interesting to think of the disappearance of something that’s been around since antiquity. Hmmm. The Specialist… is this a metaphorical story? Nearly afraid to investigate…
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I found a version online…with several typos
http://www.jldr.com/specialist.htm
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I laughed so hard. We went to an outdoor concert one time and BOTH my children felt this same level of NO toward the Johnny-on-the-Spot options. We left the concert. My husband, whose grandparents had an outhouse until his adulthood, was not amused. Great slice!
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NO to the Port-o-Potties as well! I am so glad this unappealing Slice made you laugh. My father had a story (too many, I think) about outhouses, such as the one at his aunt’s; there was an electric fence nearby and you had to be careful not to run into it – and that fence would would sizzle and pop in the rain. I said, Welp, if you did hit it, I guess you wouldn’t have to go anymore… now I really wish I could hear him telling those stories again.
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We had an outhouse at our camp for years. This post reminds of those late night hikes excursions out, while the male cousins waited to scare us girls! Memories are like warm hugs. Thanks for reminding me of some of mine.
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Yikes to night hikes! But I am glad the memories are good. Mostly – lol.
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The horrors of a chamber pot! I am so grateful that the flush toilet was invented. My mother grew up without a bathroom in Wisconsin. I remember using an outhouse when we would go to visit. It is not a smell I want to relive.
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:O – my father shared a few experiences and it occurs to me that perhaps I’ve inherited a sense of detail from him…!!
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I love the structure of this piece! I, too, would have refused, no matter what the consequences. Some of our technological advances may not be the best for society, but indoor plumbing and toilets definitely do not fall into that category!
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The horror is rather burned in my memory, Sarah! Thank you for your words.
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This made me giggle and also appreciate indoor bathrooms! It also reminds me of when I used to visit my great uncle, and they used to point out the outhouse to us kids!
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Indoor bathrooms and air-conditioning: thank heaven for them!! Think of all those centuries people did without :O
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Last summer the air-conditioning broke in the house I was renting. The landlord couldn’t get it fixed for a week. It was humid and the windows were swollen shut in the hot house…I didn’t think that I would make it! To think, I didn’t have Central Air as a kid and somehow I managed.
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We get used to a thing and we KNOW what we’re missing – before, we didn’t! It was just the way it was.
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The smile came as soon as I read “converting”, though I really didn’t expect a chamber pot! The closest I have come to this story was primitive camping in the Girl Scouts. Digging a latrine and then using it when it finally couldn’t be avoided is an experience I’d rather not repeat!
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Girl Scout Survivor, ha – but no, I would not have earned that badge!
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Kid vs. grownup vs. pot: the ULTIMATE battle of wills. For a kid, everything about this is big and important. And the grown-ups, who have forgotten the rules of kid-dom and can’t figure out for the life of them what the big deal is. I can picture it ALL. Thanks for the smile today, Fran.
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I thought after I wrote: Might there be a good reason behind a young child’s “No”? Besides asserting independence and parroting what’s so often said to the child? This event was a borderline psychological trauma! You’re right about grown-ups forgetting, just so many things, including the magic of childhood, sometimes.
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This reminds me of a story my mom told me about her childhood. She grew up in the country & she had a bath time just like you described. But the chamber pot-oh heaven’s no! Absolutely not!
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I absolutely love stories of the old days but … I would NOT want to live certain aspects!
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Ha ha, the chamber pot! Love your story and refusal to go no matter what! That would probably have been me too. It brings back memories of history and chamber pot contents being thrown out of upstairs windows onto crowded streets below…!! In fact, I think they still do it occasionally in China, they definitely spit out of windows…. which could lead me onto train tracks being a common public toilet for men in India. I’m so glad I don’t travel by train any more over there!!
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I am recalling that’s where the expression “gardyloo!” originated, from throwing chamber pot contents out of an upper window to the streets. Your travels fascinate me…yikes to those tracks!
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