Summer Rubber Had Me a Blast

Some things are not easy to admit.

Like the time I soiled my pants very badly in junior high after eating a moldy bologna sammy on a triple-dog-dare.

Or the day my mom walked in on me kissing a mirror when I was seven (it was practice for the big game someday hopefully with Greta Heinemann).

However, the summer when I was five became more than just an embarrassing moment, it was a season of shame. You see, I had these reoccurring dreams – night terrors, really – of Darth Vader chasing me up the stairs. I would try and climb as fast as I could, but the stairs turned into quicksand and I got stuck. Right before D.V. would grab me, I would wake up. And the bed would be wet.

This happened 2-3x/week, my mom tells me, for a good month before my parents did something about it. No, they didn’t get me a therapist or apologize for letting me watch Star Wars too young, they got me a twin-size rubber sheet… with a giant Packers “G” logo on it.

You see, my parents knew the one thing in my life that I would never try and harm in any way would my turtle Mortimer or the Packers. They must’ve been out of the ocean-themed rubber sheets so they got the Packers ones instead. And I’ll tell you, they worked like a charm. No, they didn’t stop the Vader dreams right away but after we started using the rubber sheets, I would only wake up screaming… the bed was dry!

My nighttime confidence grew so much that one night I gave Vader a swift kick to the helmet and he stopped chasing me. It was the last Star Wars nightmare I would ever have until the real-life nightmare that was Jar Jar Binks.

Out of curiosity, I emailed my mom to ask where they bought the Packer rubber sheet. Apparently, it wasn’t a sheet at all – it was an all-weather XL grill cover that they cut up and bungee-corded to the bed. Well played!