An Old Problem – Chapter Twenty-Three
To begin with the drive was pretty uneventful, although our passenger did dig into her bag and produce a box of orange flavoured chocolates.
“The local village shop may have lacked many of the basics but this exclusive brand of Orange Crème’s I remembered was your favourite and thought we’d enjoy them on the journey home.” She grinned as she saw both mum’s and my eyes brighten.
We all eagerly took one and the woman wasn’t wrong, they were simply – melt in the mouth perfect.
At least we weren’t spending the entire trip talking about some dress she’d bought or luckily, how she’d spied the sweets in the village shop and debated whether to buy them or not.
There was a nice period of sucky silence as we enjoyed the chocolatey goodies. One wasn’t going to be enough so we each had a couple more… yes they were very moreish.
This length of silence, although welcome, was not like Mrs Symanski at all and after a while she suddenly announced.
“Anthony,” she began, “Zofia and I had a really good chat about you.”
The pleasant calm I’d retreated to whilst savouring those orange choccies was suddenly interrupted, I don’t know if she could hear my buttocks clenching but mum seemed fascinated.
“Oh, why was that?”
She knew she had our attention. “Well, she’d noticed Anthony was wearing a nappy… and I’m sorry to say this,” she said turning to face me for a second, “she wondered why a boy of twelve was still in them.”
I flushed. I remembered that she hadn’t exactly tried to cover my awkwardness, telling her as an introduction to a woman I’d never met before that I’d pissed myself and had just been changed… and she thought I wasn’t even a teenager…. grrr. Anyway, I looked out at the passing countryside pretending I wasn’t bothered and hoping I wouldn’t have to hear a tirade of ‘old people’s disapproval’.
“She wondered if perhaps you’d had a terrible shock. So, I mentioned about you occasionally having night time accidents when you get a bit scared.” She paused and thought for a moment, “She was fascinated to hear about the lightning strike you witnessed. She wondered if that had perhaps turned into some kind of irrational fear and wearing a nappy had become, like, a security blanket.”
It’s amazing that people had opinions and explanations for something only I was experiencing. Meanwhile, mum was sort of making agreeing mumbles and I heard the word ‘perceptive’ mentioned.
I wasn’t happy that my need for a nappy was the topic of discussion because I didn’t see that it was anybody else’s business. Of course, now I was suddenly dragged back from quite enjoying the ride to being the centre of attention, I squirmed uneasily in the thick padding that the woman I was hoping to silence had fitted me in. I couldn’t have it both ways I suppose.
She went on about how they’d sat out in the back garden and over several cups of tea, deliberated in general how certain things affect people in different ways. How anxiety and shear fear play such an important part in a young person’s development and how it was a shame I’d suffered on and off for most of my life.
I harrumphed my disapproval in the back seat but mum kept interjecting her thoughts and so the conversation continued.
She did eventually get round to saying to her sister that I was a lovely boy – polite, well-mannered and very friendly, which she was keen to add she couldn’t say about many youngsters on our estate.
We’d been driving for about thirty minutes when that little tit-bit came about and it was just nice to hear something I didn’t have to justify.
“… and then she asked me if I saw Stefan in you?”
This sudden turn in conversation took me by surprise because her youngest son wasn’t someone she’d talked about before. In fact, I remembered mum saying many moons ago that he was a subject that they never discussed.
Mum was quick on the uptake. “And do you?”
“I see what I could have had with Stefan had I treated him like you treat Anthony.”
There was a catch in her voice and a slight sob as she searched in her large handbag for a tissue.
“If only I hadn’t been so damn stupid.”
She dabbed at the tears.
#
Although always nice to me I’d simply assumed she was really just a ‘stuck in her ways’ type of old lady. I’d never seen her get emotional before and it came as a bit of a shock. However, I saw this wasn’t a party piece or someone looking for sympathy and I felt sorry for her. If the seat belt hadn’t restricted my movements I’d have probably reached over and offered a consoling hand on her shoulder… or something.
“Are you OK?” Yes I know it was a stupid question but it was the only one at that moment I could come up with.
“Would you like me to pull over?” Mum’s was a more practical suggestion.
“No love you’re alright… it’s just me… I’m sorry.” She said trying to hide her sorrow.
“Mum, I think you should pull in as soon as you can… let Mrs Symanski get some air.” Was my next attempt to come up with something better than “Are you OK?”
A few hundred yards later we’d driven down a minor road, which led to a village. We parked up by a small pond surrounded by trees but dominated by a large weeping willow. There was next to no other traffic but the sun dappled the area in a soft light and, although not as warm as it had been recently, it set a relaxing scene. I undid my seat belt and rested my hand on the old lady’s shoulder.
I could tell she was really suffering and I didn’t know why but my natural empathy took over.
“Take your time but… do you want to talk about it?” Hell, I suddenly sounded like Doctor Ames.
Meanwhile, mum had got out and gone to the boot of the car and retrieved a large box of tissues and a bottle of water. If there had been one around I’m sure she would have taken us to a pub but she was as concerned as I was that this old lady was suddenly looking her age.
Of course she was a bit reticent at first but mum has a way of making it easier for people to talk. A couple of sighs, a few understanding looks, an empathetic hug and before we knew it… we got what had brought on her weepy state. This tactic had worked on me hundreds of times.
“He’ll be forty in two weeks’ time,” she shrugged and sighed, “and I’ve not seen or heard from him since, on his sixteenth birthday, he upped and left home.”
“Oh dear Lena,” mum proffered the box of tissues, “what happened?”
#
Over the next hour Lena Symanski became a different person as she wept and told her story of how, after her husband died in an accident at work, she fell apart. The rest of the family also suffered but worst affected of all was her youngest, ten year-old Stefan.
The news of Mr Symanski’s death was devastating for everyone but it had the effect on young Stefan who was so inconsolable he started to wet the bed. Lena herself was finding it hard to deal with the loss and herself spiralled out of control. Although her eldest daughter Anna was married and living in Poland, and her eldest son Tomaz married and working in Australia, she was finding it difficult keeping a roof over the rest of the family’s head.
Husband, Victor, had been the supervisor on a building site, and the company was trying to blame him for the accident. A large crane came apart, plummeted to the ground, killing the driver and four others on the ground, Victor among them. The company had a very effective group of lawyers that held up any compensation and dragged the proceedings slowly through the courts.
What little savings the Symanski’s had was swallowed up by the mortgage, whilst Lena had taken the trauma badly, finding solace in the bottle and too distraught to care much about anything, or anybody else. Her grief was, as she said, ‘unbearable’.
I wondered what on earth had gone on between the two sisters for her to open up the way she was. Perhaps it’s just the thought of her son reaching forty that had set her off but in truth I was a bit shell-shocked as the story unfolded.
Trauma affects people in different ways and she was hit badly. So, whilst dealing with all that, she couldn’t cope with her son wetting the bed and took all her anger and frustrations out on the poor lad.
Even though it was her who insisted he wore a nappy to bed she ridiculed a boy of his age waking up wet. Sometimes, in the morning, because she was past caring, she’d make him wear the soaked item to school, where he was ostracised by his school mates. She didn’t care she thought he deserved it, that he was doing it on purpose, and he should stop because he was too old to wet the bed.
Shamefaced she admitted that year after year, as his incontinence got worse, she just continued blaming and verbally, and sometimes physically, abused him using the most degrading names and spanking the poor boy for making extra laundry.
He had always been a slight lad, not one to argue or cause trouble (I saw why her sister had wondered if she saw me in Stefan). A boy to be protected not attacked but still she didn’t let up. She’d convinced herself that he was doing it just to annoy her or as an act of attention seeking and it was only her youngest daughter Katarina who really acted as mum and changed, washed and consoled the suffering Stefan.
Even in his teens the lad was made to wear a nappy because his wetting became a daily problem. But the constant put downs from his mother were hurting and he needed to get away.
Since her husband’s death they’d lived hand to mouth but her youngest’s bruises, both physical and mental, were taking their toll. His mother had no sympathy and, after six years of abuse, on his sixteenth birthday (no party had been organised) she came home to find Katarina saying he’d packed a bag and left.
“I wasn’t worried.” She proclaimed in a weepy voice. “He had nowhere to go so I expected him to return, with his tail between his legs and begging for forgiveness.”
She let out a roar of emotion. “Damn it, I should have been the one asking for forgiveness.”
The emotional barrier broke further and both mum and I hugged a sad, lonely old woman on a bench over-looking a village pond.
The weeping willow couldn’t have been more apt.
#
We all sat on the bench for a while in silence.
For the first time in ages I felt grown up. I had sympathy and understanding of a disastrous period in Mrs Symanski life and realised how easily it was for things to go wrong. The spiralling out of control of the situation, enhanced by the bitterness at losing a loved one in such tragic circumstances, and the resulting fallout could happen to even the most innocent, it was a lesson to learn.
However, I suddenly realised that I was soaked. I think I’d felt a kinship with Stefan and his horrendous treatment had seen me empathetically flood my nappy. I didn’t say anything, merely sat there considering how such an experience had eventually turned this bitter old lady around. It was mum who put a voice to the question.
“Is that why you were always so supportive of Anthony when you got to know about his problem?”
“Yes, I didn’t want any other parent making the same mistakes I made.” She sniffed into her tissue.
That made two of us. I was so grateful my family had not reacted in any way like Mrs Symanski.
“Lena, you’ve always been a good friend to me, and without your friendly advice and encouragement… well, it certainly made life easier in the way we were able to treat Anthony here.” Mum was gently stroking her hand and including me in the conversation.
Mrs Symanski shrugged.
“I remember the first time you came over to our house and you saw Anthony wondering around wearing a nappy and I was embarrassed. I thought at five years-old it might reflect badly on us the fact that our son didn’t appear potty-trained.”
The old lady just nodded as if she was also just remembering.
“Do you know what you said?” She didn’t give her chance to recollect she just ploughed on. “If a boy needs a nappy, he needs a nappy – it’s not the end of the world and you shouldn’t force him to give it up if that’s not what he needs.”
Mum was pleased she remembered it so clearly.
“Over the years as we got to know each other better and we had out little chats, you became a font of information about anxiety issues and how they effect a young mind. Until now I never knew why you were so amazing and understanding but I guess you’ve had a great deal of time to reflect on what happened. Meanwhile, I took in everything you said and I think it made life easier for all of us.”
I was amazed that our neighbour had such an influence on mum… and as it turned out… the fact that because of her the family accepted why I still wore nappies.
However, I wasn’t that sure now why she saw Stefan in me. I mean, he started wetting from grief and the constant bickering, argument and blame made his condition worse. That in no way reflected on my situation but perhaps it could have been very negative without her input. I should be grateful just in case.
Mum continued in her praise of Mrs Symanski… and I’m not sure it was only to make the old lady feel better.
“If Anthony was anxious and began to wet the bed… your advice was a nappy would instantly solve the problem. As he got older, and because he never complained about wearing one, it seemed the most effective way and became an easy fix. Throughout that time you always said a boy shouldn’t have to worry about a different style of underwear…”
Mrs Symanski interrupted. “I had a lot of time to think of my selfishness… and stupidity once Kat got married and left home. Much too late – I hated what I’d put the family through, especially Stefan. I know I was grieving but what sort of mother treats her son…” The tears sprung into her eyes and we waited for the moment to pass.
#
From our shocked looks to each other I think both mum and I had been stunned by her confession. Obviously, from the way mum reacted, this information was all new to her and we saw sadness and regret in our neighbour we’d never seen before. Over twenty years without seeing or hearing if your son is dead or alive must have been one hell of a weight to carry. Especially when you blamed yourself for what happened.
Then mum realised that the information about me since Mrs Symanski had been away had changed, and a whole lot of other influences, elements and data had been included into why I still wet myself.
Now wasn’t a time to go into all that, and besides it didn’t help that I could feel the pooling cooling and I wanted to be in something more comfortable as soon as possible. We’d been sitting there for an age so perhaps now was the time to make a move to finish the journey home.
I wasn’t sure how I could move things along so I’d be able to change at home. I don’t think either mum or Mrs Symanski had noticed I was wet but I was fidgeting a little uncomfortably on the hard wooden bench.
Eventually the situation appeared to have come to some conclusion and home seemed the best way forward. As I got up to help Mrs Symanski to her feet I unconsciously grabbed my crotch to rearrange the soaked padding. The old lady noticed.
“Erm, Mary, I think Anthony needs a change…”
“No, no, I’m fine.” I tried to convince mum there was no urgency but she wasn’t going to be fooled and because there was a more experienced voice I was reminded that it wasn’t healthy staying in a wet nappy for too long.
My protests fell on deaf ears and between them I was cajoled onto the back seat and told to remove my shorts so they could check.
“Mum, you said I have to do this on my own.” I thought this was a good way around any argument, even though I was dead against having a nappy change in such an idyllic spot.
“OK love then do it yourself. Have you brought any spares with you?”
“No, erm, but, I…”
I knew that mum had at least another change in her bag because I saw it when I was changed in the bathroom but she was right, I hadn’t thought to bring anything.
Mrs Symanski took charge and simply told me to sit back and let the professionals deal with it. Mum was smiling at the way she had snapped out of her doldrums now she had a project.
Of course mum’s bag contained all that was needed and I was stripped, wiped, cleaned and powdered efficiently on the back seat of her car, which seemed to be getting a bit too regular.
“Muuumm.” Yes that whine again didn’t cut it as she passed Mrs Symanski each item and watched in admiration as the old lady completed the task. She had me nappied and pulling up my shorts in just a couple of minutes.
“I see you haven’t lost your flair, Lena… all very professional.” Mum was smiling so, now I’d been attended to, we could continue on our journey home.
I don’t think I’d ever been changed in such a lovely spot or under such circumstances and although I whined in protest, I was grateful to be wearing fresh and dry padding.
This had been one hell of a trip… and now thankfully… a much more comfortable journey for me at least.
#
Once we’d dropped our passenger off we found the house empty, neither Jen nor dad having returned from their outings. In some ways it had been quite a gruelling, if illuminating, excursion, which was going to take time to process. To help with that, I popped on the kettle and made us both some tea.
As we settled down mum began. “Well sweetheart, what did you make of all that?”
Where to start? Was mum referring to the old lady’s confession, her participation in changing my nappy or her surprise involvement in my family’s attitude to me still wearing protection?
“Poor Stefan,” was all I could come up with.
“Yes, yes,” mum nodded in agreement, “that was such a revelation and does explain a lot as to the advice she’s given over the years.”
I looked at her to explain.
“Well, as you know, although your father and I have always used nappies as the first line of defence when your night time wettings began, we often wondered if it wasn’t babying you too much and you’d grow up to resent us.”
I was going to comment but decided to wait.
“It was Lena who advised us to not make a big thing about it, make it normal, make it so you were always dry and comfortable and then… let you make your own decision.” She looked at me to see if I reacted. “A nappy isn’t for everyone but for some it’s just what they need.”
“That’s not the impression I get from Doctor Ames.” I gestured.
“No, no, indeed, she and Doctor Mandip have added a different dimension to it all but I don’t think anyone is wrong.”
She paused for a long while and I wasn’t sure if I had anything intelligent to add so I quietly sipped my tea.
“There’s something about you Anthony that makes you unique.”
There it was again something if only we knew what that something was.
It was nice to hear mum thought I was unique but there again, don’t all parents think their offspring are special and unique, isn’t that their job to feel that way?
Never mind, she went on.
“The things you wear, the choices you make, the love and patience you have… the things you accept and never question…”
She looked as if she was deliberating before saying more.
“I think we’ve all got ideas, strategies and over the past few weeks you’ve had to put up with quite a lot,” mum persisted, “but I think you like the world you’ve created.”
The End of An Old Problem – Chapter Twenty-Three.
If you want to read more stories about ABDL boys you can find a list here: Diaper Boys – Index
The story originally came from: https://www.dailydiapers.com/content/stories.html