“I peed in a bucket!” my son screamed. We have been going through potty training, which is never easy. He was very excited.
He then decided to pick up the bucket to show my wife and me. Except it wasn’t a bucket, it was an empty flower pot because I always have great expectations when I buy the flower pots but they never seem to remain filled with dirt and flowers. Perhaps because my son likes to pee in them all of a sudden.
“Mom, Dad,” he said very calmly. “This is my pee bucket.” His junk was still out of his pants. Pretty soon I sure someone in this family is going to be arrested for exposure.
Now he was showing us his pee bucket. But flower pots, as you all know, have holes in the bottom. Good times. Good times.
My wife shot me a look and it wasn’t the “aw, look at how cute that is” look that she sometimes gives me when the kids do something unexpected. It was the look that told me that somehow I was to blame for all of this.
“This isn’t my fault!” I said as pee dribbled out of the pee bucket. The look had immediately put me on the defensive.
“Who else is going to teach him to pee in a bucket!” She said. “This is totally your fault, this is something you would do!”
Granted, this does sound like something I would teach my kid, but this time, he’s using only his imagination and getting no help from me.
I’ve taught my son to pee on trees, flowers, car tires, inside bottles, on Cheerios and we have begun snow peeing as well. It’s an art form and you can only master after years of practice and eventually with the help of beer.
But I’ve never taught him to pee in a bucket. It’s never even crossed my mind although in hindsight, it probably should have.
“This wasn’t me! I didn’t teach him this!”
When it comes to boys, sometimes my wife thinks we are all the same. That if one has done something, then another boy has done something. And if I didn’t teach him to pee in a bucket, then it is my DNA that is to blame for him peeing in a bucket and then picking it up to bring it to us, dripping and all.
It’s all of manhood she blames and I’m the one that gets the brunt of the accusations. I take the punishment for all men. You all owe me.
Well, to be honest, it is kind of fun. I’m not sure why but I can understand it from the perspective of a four-year-old boy. Filling a bucket up, pouring the bucket out, putting stuff in the bucket, peeing on the stuff in the bucket. I can totally get that, and I know that the ladies out there are getting grossed out. But the guys, they know that for some reason, it’s cool to pee on stuff. It’s primordial like marking your territory. It just feels right. I don’t know why, but I get it. And because I get it and because my son did it, I am to blame. It’s not me honey, it’s all of mankind. 100 bucks says that if Neil Armstrong could have peed on a moon rock, he would have done it. I guarantee there is a NASA engineer out there somewhere that has worked on this national problem.
“Go dump that out!” my wife says.
“Good job boy!” I say right after her. Then I get the look again. I couldn’t help it. He peed in a bucket, he had good aim. In my book, that’s a win.
My wife walks away while shaking her head, disgusted by all things boy. I go back to reading my book on the porch. Life is good.
Five minutes later, I hear my daughter.
“Dad, he peed in a bucket!” she screams, excited.
Yup, she gets it.
Previously Published on Hossman-at-Home