Memory Monday: The Little Boy 'Shock Collar'

Make no mistake. This is not my memory.

But with the permission of husbands who will remain nameless, this story simply must be retold. The memory serves as a blazing reminder that those of us of 'Gen-X' were undeniably, the 'Tester Generation'.

Think about it.

Lead paint on metal playground equipment. (What ever happen to those glorious merry-go-rounds that would induce vomiting after 20 too many rides?)

Teeny, tiny little Light-Brite pegs and all those little legos that could potentially get lodged in our respective esophaguses...or it esophagis?

I was minding my own business the other day when I stumbled upon a stark reminder of just how 'Tester' we were.

My most excellent mother and father-in-law regularly and very generously send care packages our way. They brighten everyone's day and with budding fashionistas in our home, clothing is always well received.

After clearing the contents of the latest offering, the girls had retreated, loot in hand, up to their rooms to put it all away. I was fumbling with the odds and ends when I found myself holding something that looked like a really sick torture device.

Essentially, it looked like a jock strap with wires attached to it.

My gut reaction was to launch it as far away from my person as quickly as I could.

I felt like I had just violated someone's privacy.

After a minute and regaining my composure, I cautiously went back to the task at hand and quickly realized that it wasn't a torture device at all but actually only a segment of a more intricate tool to bring about certain misery to some poor, hapless victim.

There were some wires.

And another jock-strappy thing.

It even had a place for batteries.

Very frightening.

Then, I found the box.


I was right. It was designed for little boys...which totally confused me seeing as how, well, we don't have any of those around. What I saw before me was a 'Stop Bed-Wetting Kit'.

I was still too weirded out to fiddle with it much so naturally, I put it on display on my kitchen counter.

When an anonymous male walked through the door and laid eyes on it, he shrieked like a little girl, retreated into a corner and rocked back and forth while singing "I'm a Little Tea Pot".

Just kidding...but it makes for a great visual, doesn't it?

As always, this unnamed man kept it cool when he saw this little gem and even smirked a bit.

He then proceeded to share the sordid tale.

As children, he and another unnamed sibling were incredibly deep sleepers...Hmmm, with as deep as our children sleep, my bets are on that being a gross understatement.

I may have mentioned before: our kids could sleep through nuclear holocaust. Apparently, so could a couple of their progenitors because their parents tried every trick in the book to keep the bedsheets dry at night. Bedwetting was a bit of a problem. Factor in the costs and time it took to wash the bed linens all while having only a coin operated community laundro-mat, I could imagine the exhaustion.

At one point, Anonymous Man's parents resorted to hooking up their two bedwetting
culprits to a device, not unlike a doggie shock collar, that would BUZZ every time it detected moisture.

In extensive interviews I have discovered the following results: There was a half awake, very irritated older brother who would holler at deeply sleeping brothers when their buzzers kept waking him up. (At least it worked for someone. Perhaps it can't be considered completely ineffective if a bedwetter is awakened as a result of the sleep deprived rage of innocent bystanders).

Also, at least one of the not-so-innocent victims has admitted that when he hears similar buzzing sounds as an adult while drifting off to sleep, he is swallowed up by nightmares of really large toilets that look a lot like Pee-Wee's armchair. (actually, I made the toilet part up but again, great visual!)

And then there's a result I've been observing for years that I didn't even realize until now. Little boy bedwetters become very patient, loving Daddies to little girls who come into their bedrooms in the middle of the night, completely soaked, shivering and wreaking of that last gallon of late night fluid used to quench an insatiable thirst.

Who knew I'd see expressions of real empathy even while our R.E.M cycles are totally interrupted?

I wonder if the makers of that blasted buzzer decided its sound was more effective than using a cute little tune like "Drip, Drip, Drop Little April Showers".

Or did they ever consider what would happen if one of those wires got loose? How's that for a rude awakening?

What I do know is that you don't see those kinds of contraptions around much anymore....which goes back to my 'Tester Generation' theory.

It's amazing how many of us made it.

To be perfectly honest, we all have baggage of one kind or another. I guess the key to living a well adjusted life is to fight the urge to take it all too seriously...Although, in this case, I highly recommend that the Future Bedwetters of America unite, learn from Gen-X and just develop bladders of steel.