Happy Mother's Day to all the mothers and mothers-to-be! In reverence to this hallowed day, I thought it would be appropriate tell a short story about familial bonding.
...the first afternoon with our daughter, Mckenna, aboard the floating shopping mall was uneventful until she needed to go potty. Without getting technical, toilets on ships operate on a wicked suction system and if you're seated on the toilet and flush...well, you are in for a surprise. A surprise to an adult is first-rate horror to a four year old girl. Without thinking, we allowed Mckenna to experience this horror alone. She flushed, the toilet sucked, she screamed. The sound was blood curdling.
"Help!!" and "Something grabbed my bottom!" were the only words I understood. We barged headlong into the tiny head to rescue her. She was standing in the shower with her pants around her ankles trembling. Mckenna was convinced a monster growled and then tugged her into the little opening at the bottom of the bowl. Tears streaked her cheeks and the whimpering continued for hours.
Mckenna avoided the potty for two days opting for some sort of starvation technique to ward off the beast in the potty. Eventually, after hellacious prodding by a worried mother she succumbed to a specific routine only in public lavatories while holding hands and keeping a constant eye between her legs on the hole on the bottom of the bowl. Even when others went to the head, Mckenna cowered in the corner.
Several years later, my wife asked me to walk Mckenna to the restroom in the Denver airport. I said no problem, but when I left her at the entrance to the ladies restroom, she hesiated and frowned.
"What's wrong, sugar?" I asked.
"Daddy, is this a good bathroom?" She gulped and looked at me half-frightened. I was confused.
"I don't understand sweetie." I crouched to her. "What do you mean?"
"Is it a regular potty or one of the those sucky kinds?" She was truly concerned. I held back the chuckle and assured her that only sucky potties were on boats and planes.
"That is why we were going now so we won't have to go a plane." I hunged her and she ventured on cautiously.
Mckenna is twelve years old now, a cruising and flying veteran, and at an age when daughters and fathers no longer talk about the restroom. I'm sure she still considers the toilet before she sits...I don't blame her.
This is an excerpt from my book, The Perils of Travel. Hope you enjoyed it.
Pick of the Day(4-2-0)...Detroit
...the first afternoon with our daughter, Mckenna, aboard the floating shopping mall was uneventful until she needed to go potty. Without getting technical, toilets on ships operate on a wicked suction system and if you're seated on the toilet and flush...well, you are in for a surprise. A surprise to an adult is first-rate horror to a four year old girl. Without thinking, we allowed Mckenna to experience this horror alone. She flushed, the toilet sucked, she screamed. The sound was blood curdling.
"Help!!" and "Something grabbed my bottom!" were the only words I understood. We barged headlong into the tiny head to rescue her. She was standing in the shower with her pants around her ankles trembling. Mckenna was convinced a monster growled and then tugged her into the little opening at the bottom of the bowl. Tears streaked her cheeks and the whimpering continued for hours.
Mckenna avoided the potty for two days opting for some sort of starvation technique to ward off the beast in the potty. Eventually, after hellacious prodding by a worried mother she succumbed to a specific routine only in public lavatories while holding hands and keeping a constant eye between her legs on the hole on the bottom of the bowl. Even when others went to the head, Mckenna cowered in the corner.
Several years later, my wife asked me to walk Mckenna to the restroom in the Denver airport. I said no problem, but when I left her at the entrance to the ladies restroom, she hesiated and frowned.
"What's wrong, sugar?" I asked.
"Daddy, is this a good bathroom?" She gulped and looked at me half-frightened. I was confused.
"I don't understand sweetie." I crouched to her. "What do you mean?"
"Is it a regular potty or one of the those sucky kinds?" She was truly concerned. I held back the chuckle and assured her that only sucky potties were on boats and planes.
"That is why we were going now so we won't have to go a plane." I hunged her and she ventured on cautiously.
Mckenna is twelve years old now, a cruising and flying veteran, and at an age when daughters and fathers no longer talk about the restroom. I'm sure she still considers the toilet before she sits...I don't blame her.
This is an excerpt from my book, The Perils of Travel. Hope you enjoyed it.
Pick of the Day(4-2-0)...Detroit
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