What do wetting a bed and playing the game of football have to do with each other?
As I was pondering my reaction when hearing about a musical stage play with the title: The Bedwetter, I realized that there was a connection between the harrowing events of my childhood at age nine (9); and a Women’s Professional Football game where I was a Middle Linebacker (number 34) playing for the Toledo Troopers, almost two decades later.
The Bedwetter played in New York City and Washington, DC. The show is touted as stories of courage, redemption, and how a 10-year-old girl deals with depression and self-doubt.
I’m elated that this musical popped into a media now, because it prompted me to consider my very personal emotional effects of my childhood bedwetting; and then to realize how I was freed.
My story differs greatly from the story told in the musical. But, sparking my attention to this matter has been mightily instructive for me, and the source for writing this short story.
So first, let me tell you the story of me as a 9-year-old little girl who wet her bed.
I’m relaying to you an experience I remember to this day. My mother came into my room as I was waking up. She pulled back the covers, grabbed my right arm and snatched me from the bed. She looked at the single bed, and then smacked me on the left side of my face yelling “You did it again, you bad girl.” Then, she grabbed the bed sheet and rubber sheet placed below it that keeps the wetness from soiling the mattress. I lay on the floor watching her.
She wound up the bed clothes and laid them on the floor next to me. Then, she grabbed me again, but this time by the back of my neck and lifted me to a standing position. “Go! Go outside. The back door!” she shrieked.
I ran to the back door, she followed with the bed sheets. We walked outside where the clothes line was set up. “I’m telling all the neighbors that you wet your bed. You bad girl.” I dropped my head and looked at the ground. “I’m hanging your wet sheets out here for all to see.” I continued to look at the earth and green grass below me.
When she had completed hanging the sheets on the clothes line she ordered me back into the house where I ran into my room and cried. I don’t remember the rest of the day. But, I do remember the belt beating I received when my father came home from work. She told him about the wet bed, and that I deserved to be punished.
Even though I was able to curtail the bedwetting malady within less than a year, I lived with the guilt and shame. I will be writing more short story memoirs and sharing some very poignant lessons about dealing with the childhood affliction of guilt. Now, let me tell you about how I was freed.
It was 1972. The women’s professional football team, Toledo Troopers was formed a year earlier. I had tried out, and was chosen. This experience, even though it lasted only three years for me, was life changing. Currently, I’m in the process of writing a memoir entitled: Saving My Life, which tells the story of the remarkable phenomena that shaped so much of my future.
The Troopers played in the Women’s Professional Football League (WPFL) started by Sid Friedman, a promoter from Cleveland, Ohio. The teams of the league were based in Toronto, Pittsburg, Detroit, Cleveland and Buffalo. We played NFL rules, obviously tackle, also known as gridiron football. I was a defensive player, a Middle Linebacker, number 34. A Middle Linebacker lines up behind the line of scrimmage and our defensive linemen/linewomen. This is one of the most versatile positions. The middle linebacker, often called the “mike” linebacker, is frequently referred to as the quarterback of the defense.
Now, back to 1972. We were playing the Buffalo All-Stars in Lackawanna, New York. It was the third-quarter. I was at my defensive position. Although the fullback took a dive off right tackle, the quarterback kept the ball. She was going to pass. I could feel the football in my hands as if it were magnetic. I knew where to go. I jumped into the path of the ball and my hands rose without thought and came down with the football. Because I’d never done this before, my first thoughts were: Which way do I run? I better run the right way! My legs knew. I ran thirty-seven yards and my wits returned as I was crossing the goal line. It was our team’s first “Pick 6”, which is when an interception is made by a defensive player and subsequently returned for a touchdown. We won the game.
My teammates picked me up. They hoisted me on their shoulders. The group carried me into the center of the field. I might have weighed 140 pounds with equipment at the time. An easy task for my powerful, robust, and exuberant team family. The entire stadium of fans started shouting, and by the time my teammates moved to the center of the field the supporters were on their feet cheering and roaring. I’ve never experienced such a feeling of praise and encouragement, or belonging.
As my spirit rose from my body it felt as if millions of fleas that infected my skin rose into a swarm outside my physical form. These buzzing culprits turned into tiny bluebirds. Their light chirping sound was enlightening. I was supported by my team. Lauded by the observers. The biting mosquito-like infectors, guilt and shame, were no more. I was free.
As an aside, I would like to mention the book, We are the Troopers: the women of the winningest team in pro football history by Stephen Guinan. He described me in his book, and here are some of his comments.
Referencing another middle linebacker and me he wrote: “Neither stood taller than five-three in cleats.”
Specifically writing of me he said, “…hadn’t specialized in her sport but answered the call of whatever organization needed players. Her strengths would’ve shone on a gymnastics floor, had anyone directed her to a mat. On a flat surface she was a ninja, able to sprint, flip, and fly. Now, she was a slashing cruiser among the churning battleships of the line. From the middle linebacker position, (she) began to see gaps, anticipate the movement of the play. She found purpose not in scoring but in havoc creation.”
