The Star Chart The sun was shining brightly through my bedroom window on that late September morning. The dog had just landed on my chest with her usual good morning greeting. Her wet nose made contact with my lips and her tongue went to work washing my face. "Get down, Goldy," I shouted. And she complied immediately. Goldy was my golden retriever. She had been trained by professionals and it was only by accident that we had her. She reacted almost instantly to all of my commands. She seated herself on the throw rug that was located on the side of my bed. Her tail wagged with anticipation. She was waiting for my feet to hit the floor before she renewed our good morning ritual. I rolled over on my back, stretched and thought about my life. Thought about how nice it was to be a teenager. Thought about my eighth grade class at Northeast Jr. High School, and I thought about my family. My dad, my mom and my sisters. Heather was eight and Mary was rapidly approaching three. I thought about what I had planned for today when my focus suddenly shifted back to the present. "Damn." I thought. "Damn. Damn. DAMN." I muttered to no one but myself. I had done it again. I had wet the bed. Mom had tried many things over the years to help me stop wetting but nothing had worked. She tried restricting fluids, had me do bladder-stretching exercises, tried raising the foot of the bed, conversely, tried raising the headboard. She had also tried getting me up several times in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. But still, nothing had worked. Mom had even taken me to see several doctors. (Which was a hardship on the family because we were so poor and didn't have any health insurance) The doctors had told her that there was nothing wrong with me physically and that eventually, I would outgrow it. They suggested that she just be patient and wait it out. The last time mom took me to see a doctor was two years ago. I was eleven at the time. She had made an appointment for me at a place called the Enuresis Clinic. We arrived at the clinic a little early on the day of the appointment and were informed that due to a medical emergency the doctor had been delayed but that she would be with us shortly. Because of the delay, the waiting room was packed with children and their mothers. I noticed that I was surrounded by kids that were a lot younger than I was. I listened as the mothers talked to one another about the "cures" that they had inflicted on their children and I listened to them complain about how much work it was to have a bedwetter in the house. I also noted the sidewise glances that I was getting from some of the mothers and from some of the kids as well. One of the mothers was having trouble with her son. It was apparent that he did not want to be here and that he was on the verge of throwing a tantrum. His mother grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him around facing me. I heard her whisper to him, "Do you still want to be wetting the bed when you're that old?" she asked, pointing at me. I know that she didn't mean for me to hear the comment, bit I did. And so did everybody else in the room. The room fell silent and for a moment all eyes were on me. The woman who had made the comment looked up at me and we made eye contact. I blushed, she followed suit and then we both looked at the floor. Mom could tell how embarrassed and hurt I was by the comment but said nothing. The woman's son stared at me for a moment longer and then quietly sat down. A few seconds later the women in the room resumed talking about their "cures." I was still staring down at the floor when I felt a little tear crawl across my cheek and fall with a splash to the floor. Ten minutes later we were called into the exam room. Other than the doctor treating me as if I were a five year old, the exam was uneventful. The doctor said that she would notify us of the results. It was a week later when she finally called. The tests showed nothing remarkable. Nothing was physically wrong with me. The doctor then told mom that she had, had cases where the child was just too lazy to get up and go to the bathroom. It was at this point that mom informed me that she would no longer try to cure my bedwetting. She also indicated that when I had an accident, it was my responsibility to put my wet night clothes and sheets in the washing machine to be washed. Part II Over the past two years my bedwetting had decreased substantially and I was beginning to hope that it would soon stop altogether. For some unknown reason, within the last month my incidents of bedwetting had increas4ed. I could tell by mom's facial expressions that her patience with me was running out. All of this flashed through my mind as I lay there in my wet bed. "Wade, time to get up," Mom called. "If you don't get moving you'll be late for school," she continued. I sprang into action. I jumped from the bed, gave the dog a hug, stripped the bed, removed my wet night clothes and dropped everything in a pile on the floor. I wiped down the plastic sheet, (I hated the plastic sheet. It wasn't really a sheet at all but a large piece of plastic that we recovered from a downed weather balloon. It was thick plastic and its edges were sharp. I had sustained small cuts from it on more than one occasion and the creases in the plastic made sleeping on it miserable to impossible. I had asked mom for a real rubber sheet but she had told me that we could not afford it. Because it was so uncomfortable to sleep on, I had removed it from my bed on more than one occasion. The result was several large stains in the mattress)I ran to the shower. After a quick shower I went back to my room, picked up all my wet things and headed for the laundry room. (The laundry room was in the basement and in order to get there I had to go through the kitchen) Mom was in the kitchen standing by the refrigerator talking to Mary. "Was my big girl dry last night?" She quizzed Mary. "Yes, momma," Mary responded. Mom then pulled down Mary's rubber pants and checked her night diapers. Finding them dry mom said "Hooray! What color star would you like today, Mary?" Mom held a little dish of stars out in front of Mary and Mary picked a gold one. Mom then picked Mary up and together they placed the star on the calendar. The date was September 28. Mom congratulated Mary again, set her on the floor and said, "Lets go get your big girl pants on." Mary ran down the hall and into her bedroom. Mom looked up at me and said, "Good morning Wade." She then followed up with a question. "Isn't this the third time this week that you have had an accident?" "No mom," I replied. "This is only the second time," I lied. Mom looked at me with a questioning look but said nothing. She then turned and walked down the hall towards Mary's room. Looking over her shoulder she said, "Better get on with your chores." And then she continued with a statement that sent shudders up and down my spine. "And we'll talk about this later." After dinner on the night of September 30th. mom called me into the kitchen. She was standing in front of the refrigerator, taking down the Star Chart for the month of September and putting up a new Star Chart for the month of October. "I have decided to chart your bedwetting progress," she stated pointing to the Chart. "As you can see, each date for the month of October has been divided in half. The top half is for Mary and the bottom half is for you. As soon as you get up you are to come to the kitchen so that I can see if you are wet or dry. I will mark each date with either a "W" for wet or a "D" for dry. At the end of the month I will decide if we will continue to monitor your problem and determine if some other course of action is warranted. Do you understand me, young man?" She lectured. Yes." I replied. As I knew that any other response would have negative consequences. Part III The following morning Goldy greeted me as usual. The sky was cloudy. The leaves on the trees were beginning to change color and my bed was wet. I stalled as long as possible but I knew it was useless. Down the hall and into the kitchen I walked. Mom and Mary were just finishing putting a green star on the chart. Mom took one look at me, picked up a black marking pen and put a big "W" in the bottom square of the October 1st slot. "OK Wade, go shower and get dressed," was all that she had to say to me. That is the way it went day in and day out. Some days I was wet and some days dry. On October 23rd mom marked another big "W" on the calendar, looked at me and said, "Wade, you have been wet eleven out of the last twenty-three days. I'm beginning to think that the doctor may have been right when she said that you are just being lazy. Even your little sister is doing better than you are. Please try harder." On Saturday the 25th of October I once again woke up wet. After her usual greeting, Goldy waited for me to get out of bed. I started walking down the hall with Goldy hot on my heals. I was about to enter the kitchen when I heard voices. I slowed my walk an then stopped to listen. Mom was talking to Kathy. (Kathy was the girl who lived next door. We were in the same eighth grade class in school. We didn't like each other very much but mom was very fond of Kathy) I peeked around the corner. Kathy had Mary in her arms and she was telling Mary what a good girl she was for staying dry. Mary picked out a blue star and Kathy pasted it in the bottom half of the October 25th square. "That's not where it goes," Mary protested. "That's Wades spot." "Wades spot?" Kathy asked looking at my mom. Mom hesitated for a moment and then said, "Wade still wets the bed." This was one of the few times that mom ever told anyone outside the family that I wet the bed. She always tried to keep knowledge of my problem within the family. I could feel my cheeks go red. I was dying from embarrassment. "Really?" Kathy asked with a smirk on her face. "My five year old brother Ronnie still wets the bed. My mom makes him wear night diapers. Does Wade wear night diapers, too?" "No," my mother replied. "Wade hasn't worn a diaper since he was three years old." I turned around with the intent of going back to my bedroom. Heather walked into the hall from her room. "Good morning, Wade." She said. Mom heard the greeting and called, "Wade, come into the kitchen will you?" "MOM!" I protested. "Right now, Wade," she insisted. I knew that any hesitation would be a mistake so I walked into the kitchen in my wet pajamas. Goldy was still on my heals. Kathy looked at me, saw the wet spot and stifled a giggle. Mom looked at me with a disappointed look and turned to Kathy. "Would you care to update the Star Chart?" Mom asked Kathy. "Sure, Mrs. Johnston. I would be glad to," Kathy said with glee. Turning to me, Kathy then said. "Let me see. There seems to be an error on the Start Chart. There is a blue star in your square and there should be a big "W". Isn't that right Wade?" She asked. I hesitated and mom interjected, "Answer her, Wade." "Ye..ye..ye..yes." I stuttered. With that, Kathy pried the star off of the chart with her little fingernail and using a felt tip marking pen, marked my square with a big black "W". She then commented on how may "W's" I had on the chart and noted that Mary was doing better than I was. Kathy then put a new star in Mary's square. "Now go get showered and dressed for the day," Mom said. After my shower, I dressed and gathered up my wet nightclothes and sheets and made a beeline for the basement. Mom and Kathy were sitting at the kitchen table talking. Kathy stifled another giggle as I hurried by. I stopped at the bottom of the stairs and listened for a moment. "My mom says its a lot less work to keep Ronnie in night diapers. Mom also says that as long as Ronnie wets the bed, he will be wearing diapers," Kathy said. "Mrs. Johnston, wouldn't it be a lot less trouble if you just put Wade back in night diapers?" "I considered putting Wade back in diapers in the past but at his age I don't think that diapers are an option," Mom responded. "Besides, Wade is close to stopping." Mom looked over at the Star Chart and sighed. She knew that what she had just said was nothing more than wishful thinking. Kathy got up and walked toward the door. She turned and said, "Goodbye Mrs. Johnston." A second later Kathy stated, "I still think that if Wade is going to act like a baby that you should treat him like one and put him back in diapers." "Thank you, Kathy." Mom said as Kathy closed the door behind her. "You bitch!" I hissed so that no one could hear. I took my load of wet things to the laundry room and then went back to my room to ponder what had just happened. Part IV On the 31st of October, at approximately 5:00 PM, I was summoned to the kitchen. Mom, Mary, and Heather were there. The October Start Chart was being replaced with the November Chart. I noticed that the new chart was no longer divided into two squares. Mom began. "As you can see, Wade, the dates on the chart are no longer divided in half. That is because Mary has now been dry for more than two weeks now and I think that she will stay dry from now on. Starting tomorrow, there will be no more diapers for Mary. She will be wearing big girl panties both day and night." Mom and heather congratulated Mary, gave her a hug and told her what a big girl she was. Mom also suggested (demanded actually) that I congratulate Mary too. (which I did) "You are now the sole owner of the Star Chart," Mom stated. "The rules for you have not changed. You will present yourself here every morning for pants inspection. Don't you feel real proud or yourself?" She asked. "And furthermore, young man, you were wet sixteen out of thirty-one days in October. That's more than half of the time. Please try harder," Mom begged. "Because if you can't come to grips with your bedwetting problem, then I will," she threatened. Today is Saturday, November 15th. My dry bed success ratio has remained at a little less than 50%. Mary is doing very well, not one accident. Mom is very proud of her. She took what little savings we had and bought Mary a new bed. Mary's old crib and other baby items have been retired to the garage. The plastic sheet (weather balloon) has been driving me crazy. It has become stiff and hard. I have had a hard time sleeping on it. Last night I made a big mistake. I got angry because the plastic sheet had cut me again. I removed it from my bed and threw it on the floor. I then fell fast asleep and had an accident. This morning my mattress had a big wet spot in the middle of it. I tried to hide it from mom but she found it anyway. She was angrier than I have ever seen her. She had me haul my mattress out to the garage. It is leaning against Mary's old crib. I hope it will dry quickly. I had just finished cleaning up around the yard, keeping as much distance between my mom and myself as I could. After putting the garden tools back in the garage where they belonged I decided to check on my mattress. Just as I was feeling the wet spot, mom walked into the garage. Mom stared at me with a look that would make grown men quake. "Is it dry?" she demanded. I hesitated and was about to answer her when Kathy walked into the garage. "Hello, Mrs. Johnston," Kathy greeted mom. "My mom wants to know if she can borrow a cup of flour." "Sure Kathy. Would you mind waiting for a moment? Wade and I have something to discuss," Mom said. "Not at all," Kathy responded. Mom thought for a moment and then turned to Kathy, "Look what my thirteen year old son has done to his mattress," Mom said pointing to the telltale wet spot. Kathy's facial expression betrayed her contempt for my infantile behavior. She shook her head in disgust but said nothing. Mom then turned her anger on me. "You know that you're not supposed to remove the plastic sheet from your bed. Now look what you've done. Don't you think it's about time that you stopped wetting the bed? Do you know how expensive it is to replace a mattress? Do you even care?" Mom was on a roll. For the next five minutes she lectured me on everything that I had ever done wrong in my short life. Kathy was listening intently to what my mother was saying and at the same time, she was going through the sacks that were stacked on the crib. Finally, mom was beginning to simmer down. She was trying to find a punishment that would fit the crime. But she was so angry that she was having a difficult time finding the right words. "I should... I should... I should." Mom always stuttered when she was angry. It was equivalent to some of the other mothers calling their children by all three of their names. She paused for a moment to collect her thoughts and then began again. "I should..." "Put him back in diapers!" Kathy interjected. Mom turned to look at Kathy. Kathy had found a sack that contained some of Mary's old cloth diapers. She was holding a handful of them out for my mother to take. Mom turned and looked at Kathy for a moment. Without saying a word, Kathy extended the hand holding the diapers towards my mom. "Why don't you mind your own business? You bitch!" I almost shouted. For a moment, there was a silence so complete that you could have heard a pin drop. Mom looked at me with a shocked look on her face. Her facial expression then turned to one of rage. In less time that it takes to write this, a powerful slap from mom's right hand was delivered to the left side of my face. I reeled from the impact. Mom then grabbed my left hand with her right hand and started towards the house. Almost in mid-stride, mom changed direction and approached Kathy. Mom held out her left hand to Kathy. For a second there was a look of confusion on Kathy's face and then a look of understanding. A smile graced Kathy's lips as she handed my mom a handful of diapers.