Retention Lesson at The Swain School

Retention Lesson at The Swain School

Scott Jarrett

Back in about 1959, when I was seven years old, I loved getting to Swain Country Day School in Allentown, Pennsylvania before my classes started. There was a nice playground in the back of the school with a swing set. The same swing set where the year before I had dared my brother Grant to let go of the chains when he was at his highest swing. He let go, flew off the swing, and landed flat on his back, completely winded. I felt really bad about that, but mostly because I couldn’t stop laughing, although I still feel terrible about it. The playground was a nice warm-up to a school day, to which I always looked forward.

But this warm spring morning I had a big problem: playing around before class I tore the seam of my trousers wide open, right along my butt crack, for a length of at least 4 or 5 inches. School would start in minutes, and I had never experienced an occasion when anyone outside of my immediate family could get a good look at my underwear. I was in a panic, The only employees at the school with whom I was familiar were my teacher and a cafeteria worker, and the thought of going to one of them for help and having them see my underwear through a rip in my pants had me in a panic. I wasn’t even certain how clean my underwear was.

I thought of pretending to be sick so I could be sent home, but as both my father and mother worked, I reasoned that there would be no one to pick me up. In those days kids weren’t wearing tight jeans yet, so there was some spare material on my pants, with which I did the following: I carefully tucked the fragments of trouser cloth between my butt cheeks as far into the dark recesses of my juvenile ass as possible. I guess I never pondered what might be worse: walking around with my pants awkwardly tucked into my ass, or exposing my underwear to my entire social circle.

I shuffled to class, trying not to turn my back on anyone; trying to look normal. I opted for a seat at the back of the room, which wasn’t at all normal for me. When I had to get up to go to lunch, get a drink at the water fountain, go to the library or French class (yes, Swain School had French classes all the way from first grade), music class (yes), or the bathroom, or the playground, I carefully attempted not to turn my back on anyone, all the while concentrating on retaining my determined anal grip on my trousers.

Late in the school day a teacher that I didn’t know noticed that something was wrong. She took me to the safety and privacy of a faculty bathroom for me to take off my pants and wait for them, while she sewed them for me. For some reason it was easier for me to share my predicament with a total stranger than with someone that I knew. She didn’t laugh at me (as far as I knew). She didn’t make me feel bad about it. She didn’t shame or blame me. She just matter-of-factly sewed my trousers back together, handed them into the bathroom, and sent me on my way.

I was so traumatized by my experience that it wasn’t until much later that I finally unclenched my butt. Some claim that they are still waiting for that day.