I was five, a child with a severe detachment disorder, finally graduating from preschool. We were going to Chuck E-Cheese afterward; it was a big deal. Everyone had brought their own lawn chairs; I was lined up with my classmates before a small podium. The podium had to be small, our teacher was small; I towered over her. I was always tall for my age, at every point in my life. When I was born the doctor said, “Congratulations, you just gave birth to a three-month-old.” Needless to say, I stuck out, and that day, when I soaked my lawn chair with urine at my preschool graduation, my height wasn’t working to my advantage.

My last name begins with a ‘C;’ we were moving alphabetically, receiving “graduation certificates.” I was only sitting for a few moments but had rapidly lost control of my bladder. As our teacher ran down the names and eyes moved in my direction, more people began to notice the dripping from the base of my lawn chair. When my Oompa Loompa for a teacher finally called my name, all eyes were on me. She was the only one who hadn’t caught on; she gestured for me to come to the podium. But I’m dripping with urine, I had a large bladder; there’s no way I’m moving from my seat. Painful time passes, an unnecessarily long time.

My mother comes to my rescue, gracefully sweeping me away. I was so embarrassed, so awkward, and so five years old. It only occurred to me once I asked, that my mom had felt responsible for my embarrassment. She was overloaded that morning; on her own with the three kids. My brothers, seven at the time, were making it particularly difficult for her to get them out the door on time for the bus. She got them out the door only to turn around and find me sitting on the steps in my pajamas. She had realized that in her rush to get me out the door, she had forgotten to make sure I went to the bathroom.

Of course, I never blamed her for it, and only now do I realize how adorably sad the situation was; it’s kind of funny. I stuck out as a kid, whether it was my height, or my loose bladder, or some other random phenomena; it was a force out of my control. In result, I’ve felt different, secluded from everyone else. I don’t blame myself for feeling this way; it seems like a completely normal response for a young kid to have. I felt different, and I thought differently.

It was an adorable situation, in retrospect. The sight of a dozen four-to-five year-olds lined up in lawn chairs before this tiny woman, the scene made all the parent smile. In the front of the crowd, my bright blond hair stuck up above the rest. My unfortunate situation was embarrassing, painfully adorable, and admittedly very funny. The day I soaked my chair in urine at my preschool graduation is one of the first memories I have; it’s also one of the earliest memories I have of feeling different, of feeling secluded. I was upset, but I was five, I got over it fast. Only now do I look back and laugh, it certainly wasn’t funny when I was five, but everything is always funnier in retrospect.