My father told me this story about his first day in kindergarten - the year 1898. His parents only spoke Yiddish in the home and his English at that time was very limited, whatever the reason he had pooped in his pants and when his father came to take him home of course he noticed right away what had happened and without saying a word picked him up in his arms and carried him home and privately cleaned him up and sent him out to play. Why am I writing about this? This was a special moment that my father remembered and telling it taught me the importance of not scolding or degrading a child for that which they have little or no control over. I now can only hope I followed his advice.